


where i belong (and long to be)

by rubycrowned



Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Complete, F/M, Fluff, M/M, The Proposal AU, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam hasn't quite been himself since his final split with Danielle; his family get worried and decide it's about time they came to visit for the weekend. Liam calls Zayn in as back-up. Zayn can't really ever say no to Liam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely (and I mean you might have to squint in just the right light to make it out, at least for this chapter) based on the film 'The Proposal'.
> 
> Planning on this being 3 parts (this will probably be the shortest); the second will hopefully be up by the end of next week.
> 
> For Kim, who asked me for this a horrifically long time ago. xx

Finally.

Over eight months and countless cities he wishes he could differentiate between. Which he wishes were still individually special and unique in his mind, but in reality are just a blur of exhausting days and sleepless nights.

And now. Finally.

They get to go _home_.

Or, Liam thinks belatedly, to the place that _was_ home. He’s not quite sure what it is now. Whether he’ll open the front door and it’ll just be another place of bricks and mortar. Whether it’ll be obvious in the creak of the floorboards or the light streaking through the blinds that the indefinable _something_ , which made his house somewhere he belonged and longed to be, has up and left.

***

It’s been a long time since Zayn’s boarded a plane and felt a sense of relief.

Usually it’s just another seat on another flight to another place where _he_ knows no one but _everyone_ knows him.

And it’s been…brilliant, really.

Possibly the most draining thing he’s ever done, and Zayn’s absolutely confident now that he will _never_ become entirely confident and comfortable with being in the spotlight.

But he’s still doing what he loves, with people he loves, and he’s seen more of the world in the past two years than he’d ever thought he would in his life. Even if most places are still on his ‘must-return’ list because he’s not seen much more than the backstage of arenas and the inside of hotel rooms. Because being able to afford to do that in the future is something he can be assured of now.

He just needs the time.

And, for once, they finally _have_ time to themselves.

Zayn’s not kidding himself; they’re still going to be busy. Recording a Christmas single, promotion, Christmas itself, a third album, gearing up for _another_ world tour – it’s not going to be something you’d traditionally refer to as a ‘holiday’.

But it’s England. London.

Home.

And that makes all the difference, doesn’t it.

Everything is just that little bit more bearable when you can go home at the end of the day to somewhere warm and familiar. When you can call your family - whether it’s been a rough day, or you just miss the sound of their voice - and you don’t have to worry about time differences or international call charges.

When you can be with those you love and have left behind.

That might’ve been the hardest part, beyond even the bone-aching fatigue. Eight long months almost without pause and Zayn knows the others have craved the magical hope held in the word _November_ as much as he has.

Louis and Zayn have similar reasons to be sitting with anxiously fidgeting fingers for the final leg from Dubai to Heathrow; they both have family they miss desperately, sisters they adore, and Louis hasn’t seen Eleanor in person since her classes went back, months ago now. Louis had confessed, somewhere over the Pacific, that he feels guilty some days (some days, most days) for being away so much for so long. That he loves being able to spoil his sisters, his Mum, but that it feels like a cop out for missing what feels like everything. All the little moments between the twins hiding teeth under their pillows and waiting eagerly for the Tooth Fairy one visit, and telling him matter-of-factly during the next that they _all_ know it’ll be Mum filling their stockings come Christmas so no, actually, they won’t be making a list, not for Santa at any rate. That they’re growing up without him and what if one day he comes home and he finds out he doesn’t know them anymore?

It’s gotten to the point now that even Niall’s begun to lose a little of his spark, which only brings the rest of them drooping ever lower without the infectious energy he usually carries with him. Niall’s itching to get back to his mates, to his messily comfortable nest of a home (Zayn thinks it might be the most homey of them all underneath - or maybe because of - the permanent lived-in clutter), to the hometown he’s learnt to leave behind, but still struggles with missing every dayweekmonth they’re gone.

Harry, Zayn thinks, has probably missed home the least of them all; as deeply rooted as he is to London beneath all the jet-setting. It’s likely because his friends are from the crowd who can afford to come visit him on occasion, to flit halfway across the world to catch-up on the gossip and drape Harry with the attention he craves (and even the strongest of people can’t ever help but dote on him). But, in saying that, Zayn’s also pretty sure that Harry’s looking forward the _most_ to being home, to getting some distance from the rest of them. Or (Zayn has seen the droop to Harry’s eyelids, the sad twist of his lips when he thinks no one can see). One of them anyway.

And Liam. Who is the opposite of Harry almost always but in this regard as well; he’s only grown closer, almost clingy, in the final legs of the tour, and his apprehension of returning to the UK is only emphasised in the clench of his jaw that barely seems to relax, even during sleep.

It’s not like Zayn can blame Liam; he can imagine being the same if their roles were reversed.

Three strikes and you’re out. For good it would seem, when it comes to Liam and Danielle.

They had decided to give it one final shot, back when they’d all had a couple of weeks to themselves before the North American tour began. Zayn had seen the slight desperation in Liam’s effort to make it work out; had been rooting for them even as he foresaw it all falling apart - and sooner rather than later. He didn’t take any pleasure in being proven right just days after they left for their final leg, to what was _supposed_ to be the fond nostalgia of Australia and New Zealand.

It was almost cruel, the timing of it, Zayn thinks. Unable to do it face to face, like Liam deserved after the years of relentlessly trying to make their relationship succeed. But then again, maybe it was a final hidden kindness of Danielle's; cutting ties in a way that hurt this time, more completely severed than the amicable release which each of their previous break-ups had been. There isn’t anything to hold onto this time.

Liam still isn’t himself over a month later, though; Zayn hopes that - as painful as it might be to go back to the place he and Danielle had shared, now bereft of her imprint - it may be the thing that lets him realise that it’s over, that it’s time to move on now.

Zayn sighs heavily, tries to lean back on his headrest and close his eyes for the final couple of hours of the flight; focuses on the steady breaths of Liam, the weight of his arm pressed to Zayn’s, slumped heavily in sleep.

He wakes up with the pilot’s announcement of their imminent descent, his head jerking off Liam’s, who startles into consciousness as he’s jostled from the pillow he’d made of Zayn’s shoulder.

Right. London.

Almost home.

***

The quiet, Liam tells himself, will be nice. _Peaceful._

He used to love the quiet; the snatched moments between school and sport and friends and _life_ where he could take a minute to just breathe.

In.

And out.

But then everything changed, and Liam didn't feel like it was all for the better.

Because Liam couldn’t find the quiet anymore; every second had a resonating undercurrent of high-pitched screams and never-ending demands.

Except there was also Harry’s deep, unhurried voice, forever paired to Louis’ laugh. There was Niall’s guitar and Zayn’s steady breaths, perhaps rasping around the cigarette in his mouth, always there beside him. Danielle calling across tinny phone lines on dodgy reception from  a hundred thousand miles away.

Somewhere along the way Liam forgot what quiet was, and somewhere further on he lost the need for it, the will for it.

So when he sits in his apartment and the quiet stretches out before him, an offering, he resents it.

He goes out with Andy a couple of times; tries to get lost in the sound of rapidly beating bass that pounds right through him, to remember the appeal of another unfamiliar (and yet unsettlingly similar to all of those who came before) girl under his hands, pressed against his length. To trigger that urge to just escape the unrelenting noise and embrace the silence, or the desire to take this girl, or the next, or the next, home, to purposefully stare the silence in the face as he shatters it with their own guttural echoes into the dark.

He tries. But it never happens.

A change of scenery would be useful, he's sure; he hasn’t been home to see his family since he got back in the country, and it’s been far too long since he’s spent time with them.

He knows this because his Mum has said so, more than once, on the voicemails she’s been leaving him periodically since his return. He hasn’t responded to any of them.

He’s not sure why he’s not taking the calls from his mum, or his sisters – he almost replied the one time his dad sent him a text saying simply ‘ _you ok? Made stir fry last night_ ’, knowing how painstakingly long it would’ve taken his father to type out each of the letter of the small note.

Maybe it’s because he knows he’s in for a barrage of questions as soon as he does answer (he’s stubbornly _not_ thinking about how that will likely only worsen the longer he puts it off). More probable is because he’s never been any good at lying to his mum.

Which is what leads Liam to the real reason he continues to let the phone ring on each day when it shrills at him. The one he only admits in the unwelcome silence of his house that decidedly isn’t his home when he’s returned alone once more.

Because talking to his mum would mean admitting he’s not okay.

Still.

A fact which irritates and saddens him because it’s not as if he didn’t see this all coming, Danielle leaving him, properly this time.

He knew it when, even while they were in the same city, supposedly living the same house (home; it still felt like home then), he'd go a day and a half without seeing her, no more than a text saying she wouldn't be home that night.

He knew it when the calls grew shorter, more intermittent, and when he couldn't remember the last time he initiated the end of the call, _didn't_ initiate the start of it.

(That's a lie. There was the _last_ time. The time when Liam had barely managed a pleasantly surprised _hello_ , before Danielle interrupted, face carefully blank in the pixelated Skype window as she opened her mouth. _This isn't working._ Her fingers were just visible, gripping the desk her laptop sat on (not his desk; she'd already left, no mind to be swayed); the only sign Liam ever got that this might be hurting her something close to the agony settling in his own chest.)

He knew it when she turned down the offer to fly out and visit them in Vancouver, to see what they could of the beautiful surroundings, just as she'd always described to Liam when they talked of places they'd always wanted to go. Back then, she'd laughed and said it was silly, because who picked _Canada_ when given the world? Liam had kissed her until she promised she didn't think herself silly anymore, and then neither of them were thinking much of anything anymore. But when he invited her out, the line had filled with static silence until she'd made her excuses that she just couldn't, not this time.

He knew it the entire time, from the moment she'd agreed - with a sigh and a weary smile upon her face as she looked up at him through her curls - that she'd give it, give them, give him another shot. He had known that no matter what he did, he'd never get to keep her, not for good, and that they were already running on borrowed time. He'd known it was probably cruel to them both to draw it out even further.

And yet he can’t quite seem to figure out how to deal with it.

Because he loved her.

The thing is; he's pretty sure it is _loved_ , not _loves_ , not in the way it used to mean. He's just not sure how to be him now, knowing that he doesn't love her anymore, because so many of the things he defines himself by, they are all things that have happened since he's known her. He's not sure how to separate that out.

And if he can't explain it to himself, even with the endless time and space to work it out, he's not sure how he's supposed to explain it anyone else.

He’s been home almost three weeks before he works up the courage.

He thinks maybe it’ll be easier if he takes the initiative, best defence is a strong offence and all that.

And if he calls Ruth, it might mean his mum gives him space for a bit longer (she’s also easier to fib to; he never did admit to being the one who accidentally found Pebbles the hamster somewhat crushed, and definitely unmoving, in the corner of the lounge beneath his carelessly thrown book bag).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ruth.” He tries for nonchalant.

“Little bro! So you’re alive then; you have no idea how close Mum’s been to staging an intervention, she’s been a total nightmare.”

“Oops.” Okay, Liam knows what he wants to say, may have practised it more than once in front of the mirror this morning. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Oh no you don’t. Hold up a sec, Mum’s gonna wanna hear this.” He can hear footsteps echoing along what is presumably the hardwood floor of their hall at home, and Ruth’s voice calling out ahead of her.

“Ruth, _no_ ,” he tries to stop her, but then-

“Liam, sweetie? Is that you?”

Damn.

“Hi, Mum. Yeah it’s me; sorry I haven’t had a chance-”

“Don’t you do that to me again, you hear? You know how ridiculous I feel asking your friends how you’re doing?” Honestly, it’s a wonder Liam ever learnt to speak, the amount he’s cut off by his family.

But it’s fine. He can do this. It’s his _Mum_ for God's sake, he shouldn’t be scared to talk to her, right?

Yeah okay, maybe he should.

But it’s fine.

“I know. I’m sorry, it was shit of me-”

“Language, Liam.”

He wonders if she can hear his eyes rolling through the phone.

“It was a _dumb_ thing to do, not calling back. But I needed a bit of space to clear my head first, yeah?”

“Oh, baby.”

“ _Mum_. I’m alright, honestly.”

Lie number one.

“You’re sure?”

“ _Yes_. I’ve just been busy.”

Well. That one wasn’t _entirely_ untrue.

“So you’re not moping? It’s understandable you know; it takes time to get over something like what you and-”

“I’ve actually been seeing someone.”

And- woah. Wait a sec. Where did _that_ come from? Liam definitely hadn’t planned on _that_ particular lie coming out.

“You- you have?” His mother hasn’t even made the attempt to conceal the surprise in her voice.

This is the time when Liam should admit that, no, he isn’t, and that was an entirely nonsensical thing to say since mostly he’s been sitting around the flat and finding all the gaps - between the pictures on the mantelpiece, the sheets, his eyes – that Danielle used to fill.

“Yeah, I’m...yeah.”

“Well, then. Can’t say I was expecting that.”

“Sorry, yeah, no, it wasn’t exactly something I’d planned.” That may just be the biggest understatement of Liam’s life, and this is including the time he described himself becoming one of those people who sell out O2 arenas as ‘a bit unexpected’.

“I can imagine. Well, when it happens, it happens I suppose.”

“I- mhmm?” Liam’s not sure how he’s supposed to get out of this one.

He doubts it will end well, though.

“So. You best tell me all about her then.”

***

“Zayn?”

“Li? Hey, how’ve you been, man; I've not heard from you for a bit.” Zayn hasn’t seen Liam for almost a week, since they had a run of interviews pre-‘blackout’ – where they get a blessed three weeks radio silence, completely out of the media while they sort their Christmas single, before the final two weeks blitz when they’re expected to go the other end of the extreme with insane promotion right up ‘til Christmas Eve.

Not being in contact with Liam for a week isn’t unheard of, although unusual, more so than if it was any of the other boys. Zayn figured it was mostly just from living on top of each other for so long – they all needed that time to remember that they actually are their own person and not just the five headed conglomerate the world would have them be.

Still. Good to hear his voice again.

“Hey, yeah, not so bad,” Liam chuckles drily for a second followed by a sigh, and Zayn knows he’s running his palm over the soft spikes of his hair; waits for him to continue in his own time.

“Okay; maybe not so good either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Liam’s voice is soft at the other end of the line, and maybe distance and time apart is overrated, because for most of the year, Zayn hasn’t had to _wish_ he could be there to pull Liam into a hug and prod him into a smile. “Just lonely, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn shakes his head at the patterned carpet of the hall, he’s been tracing the shapes of the flowers with his steps for the duration of the call. He feels a little guilty at the smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he hears a chorus of laughter from the lounge, all his favourite girls in one place with him – the opposite of what Liam’s going through right now. “And I’m sorry for saying sorry. You must be sick to death of people saying that by now; I just-  You’d tell me if there was something I could do to help, right?”

He can hear Liam fidgeting, but he doesn’t say a thing, so Zayn nudges him along gently.

“Spit it out, Li; what do you need?”

“It’s just that...you know how big my place is, and it’s even emptier now and, like I said, I guess I’ve been feeling a bit lonely since we got back-”

“You want me to come kip at yours for a while?” Zayn hazards a guess, trying to speed up Liam’s less than eloquent attempt to ask a favour of him.

He can just about see Liam’s face pick up in hope when he replies.

“Its not too much to- you’d do that?”

“Well yeah, of course I would, you weirdo. I thought you were going to ask me to give you one of my organs or something,” he laughs, because yeah, this is something he can do for his best mate, something practical that might actually help him.

Liam laughs too, and if it sounds a little off key it’s only because he’s finally clicked as to how absurd it was to have been nervous about asking this of Zayn.

“Look, I’d come round now if I could, but I’m back up at home right now. Heading back to London in the morning though, so I could bring round some stuff tomorrow night? Grab us a takeaway?”

“That sounds amazing, Zayn.”

Zayn let’s himself smile properly this time, because the sound of Liam returning it is audible in his tone. This is maybe why Zayn can never find a way to say no to Liam.

“Zayn?”

“Yeah, Li?”

“I really do appreciate it, you know?”

“I know. And I really, _really_ don’t mind doing it for you.” He pauses, knowing Liam is struggling just a little to accept that people genuinely do want to help him. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“See you then.”

***

When Zayn arrives the next day, overnight duffel in one hand and a newspaper-wrapped package of fish and chips in the other, Liam thinks he might finally understand that saying his mum always throws around whenever he goes home now - ‘ _well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes’_. Liam’s eyes are physically aching with tired relief as they fall upon him.

Maybe isolating himself from the boys wasn’t his best decision. From Zayn, at any rate.

It’s always been easy between them, and as cliche as it sounds, Liam just feels as though Zayn _gets_ him in a way that the others sometimes miss, shooting off just left of centre. He’s always been there for Liam when he needs it (when he _allows_ himself to need it, as he’s often reminded by tweaked lips, Zayn’s head shaking frustratingly fond at whatever scrape or worry has left Liam barely able to breathe), and Liam likes to imagine that he’s done the same in return. Not always in big gestures, but sometimes it’s simply a silent show of support, presence solidly and reliably at Liam’s side, which gives Liam the confidence that he can indeed face the world, conquer it once more.

So, yeah. Liam’s pleased to see Zayn, and kicks himself a little for having tried to hold out for so long. They’re only just going inside and already his house feels lighter; shadows retreating, cracks and gaps being filled with warmth.

***

It’s Monday night that Zayn turns up at Liam’s, and it’s the next morning that they’re scheduled to turn up at the studio to begin recording their cover of ‘ _All I Want For Christmas’_ for the holiday rush, to be tacked onto a series of limited edition bundles featuring  the new track and the just-in-time-for-Christmas release of their movie on DVD/Blu-ray. They’re cutting it pretty close, but there really hasn’t been the time this year – Zayn had thought even this was being pretty optimistic – so everyone just has to hope there aren’t any major screw ups and recording keeps to schedule to allow the sound guys to do their thing.

Fortunately, they’ve already done all the promo shoots when they first got back, so there’s only the four days they’re needed for recording before they get another week long break.

Even better, is that by Wednesday evening when they’re all sent home - Zayn bundling himself into Liam’s car as they wave goodnight to the others, each heading their separate ways - they’ve gotten all of the major solos and harmonies down. A full two days for minor corrections and overlays and reruns should be more than enough time to wrap up.

“So how long until I’ve outstayed my welcome, then?” he asks Liam that night, toes poking him in the ribs as they eat homemade mac’n’cheese in front of the telly.

“Pretty sure it was me who asked you round for my sake, remember?”

Zayn swallows a mouthful of pasta before responding jokingly; “Yeah, but that sounded nicer than ‘how long before I can leave without worrying about you sticking your head in the oven?’”

Liam shoves him hard enough that both their plates almost go flying as he squawks an offended ‘ _Oi!_ ’ which sounds an awful lot like Louis for a second. Its followed a beat later though with a much quieter, “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Zayn smiles softly and sits upright on the sofa, wrapping one arm around Liam’s shoulders so he can still eat right-handed.

“Nah, Li, ‘course you weren’t.”

And he hadn’t been. Just...small. Tucked in on himself in a way Zayn hadn’t seen since the early days of their band, when it was hard to feel big next to the enormous personalities of Louis, and Harry, even Niall and his easy, booming laugh. Back when Zayn felt a little the same.

When Zayn had first dropped his gear in the entrance hall, he’d brought Liam in for a hug. Nothing special compared to any other greeting between the two of them, not really; maybe just the other side of short, and maybe just a little tighter than normal, even with the greasy chip wrapper pressing warm between them. But Zayn could feel Liam exhale deeply over his shoulder, and he had to wonder just how long he’d been holding it in.

“You do seem better now than you were when I got here though, right?” he encourages, waiting for a nodded murmur of agreement before continuing. “And I’m sure you don’t want me hanging around forever.”

He’d expected Liam to laugh, to maybe tell him that as much as he loves Zayn, he’s not sure he can remember what vegetables look like anymore, and any more of his comfort food might kill him. Instead Liam shrugs him off, looking a bit sheepish.

“Well. No. But Mum’s decided she’s bringing the whole family down to visit this weekend once recording’s over.”

“Ah. And you want me outta here before they arrive?” Zayn guesses.

“The opposite, actually,” Liam grins a little, although why he looks so nervous about it is utterly lost on Zayn. “They might’ve gotten the impression that I wasn’t doing so well when I, ahem, possibly avoided them for three weeks when we got back.”

“Liam.” Okay now it makes more sense. Karen on the warpath is not someone you want to cross and she will _not_ be pleased with Liam right now.

“I _know_. But now she wants to come and make sure I’m not curled up in the foetal position and I don’t really have any excuses for why she _can’t_ come, so...stay? Protect me?”

“Liam.”

“You know she loves you more than me.”

“That’s a lie.” Except not really, because Liam’s family like him almost as much as Zayn’s does Liam; which is to say, nausea-inducing amounts.

“She’s going to bring that raspberry chocolate brownie you love...”

Damn.

Liam’s smiling now, and Zayn knows that they _both_ know Liam’s won.

“Ugh. Fine.”

Curse that goddamn brownie.

***

The end of the week comes around incredibly fast, at least in part by them being let off early, already free by mid-afternoon on Friday.

Harry’s heading off to catch up with Nick for an early start to the weekend, and Liam only catches Louis’ face fall  for a moment when Harry turns down his offer to go with him and Niall for a drink first.

They haven’t all been out together for a long time, since well before they got back from tour, for multiple reasons. Liam didn’t really feel like letting himself loose on the madness any more than he had to towards the end, struggling enough with his own inner turmoil. Even before that, everyone was getting tired, the novelty starting to wear off a bit once they were five months in with no end yet visible on the horizon.

And even Liam had noticed in the last few weeks that something was off between Harry and Louis. Still is.

Liam can’t really describe it; just knows that everything feels out of kilter when those two aren’t- it’s not that they aren’t getting on. It’s more like, sometimes Liam thinks that Harry has always held the two of them together with this crazy connection none of the rest of them has ever really understood. And, lately, it’s as though Harry’s become exhausted with clinging so tight, has let them drift ever so slightly apart, and it’s changed things. Made Louis look like the little lost boy when he’s always been their Peter Pan.

He wishes he could do something. But right now he has about four hours until his family invade at full force and he is _not_ ready.

Zayn trails behind him into the passenger seat and Liam can’t help but send up a silent prayer of thanks.

Thank god for Zayn Malik.

***

Liam’s been acting fidgety all afternoon.

His family will be here any minute now, but Zayn’s pretty sure it’s more than that; the place was spotless half an hour ago, roast chicken and vegetables making  Zayn feel completely starved every time he goes anywhere near the kitchen thanks to their delicious aroma. And yet Liam can’t seem to sit still, or even look Zayn in the eyes.

“Okay, out with it,” Zayn demands, grabbing Liam’s elbow as he passes by Zayn’s seat on the sofa for the third time in as many minutes, this time with a glass of water for the plant in the corner which, at this rate, might just be killed with kindness if Liam doesn’t stop and breathe for a second. “What’s eating you?”

“I- nothing.” The way Liam refuses to meet Zayn’s gaze is oh-so-convincing.

“Come off it, not even your mother is going to notice if your _cactus_ is looking a little dry, Liam.”

“Oh. Right.” Liam blinks as though this is genuinely new information.

“So what’s wrong?”

“Um. So I might not have been _entirely_ honest about why I wanted you to stay with me this weekend.”

“Okay....”

Liam seems utterly fixated on the slightly pulled thread in the weave of the carpet by his socked toes, but when he replies, he raises his head, cheeks a vibrant red as he releases his response in a single breath.

“I might’ve told my parents I was seeing  someoneandImight’vetoldthemitwasyou.”

Zayn’s face might be frozen. He’s too busy trying to process that statement to check the functionality of his facial muscles; it seems to be of secondary importance right now.

And – because Timing is a bitch and this isn't the first time Zayn’s had reasons to want to clock her one – that’s when the doorbell rings.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! got sidetracked writing my prev fic and then entirely sunk in uni :ccc
> 
> fortunately - now on placement in isolation where i do jack shit once i'm out of class so getting through this nice and quickly.
> 
> and this chap is 12k to try make up for you waiting 2 months when i said 2 weeks...

“ _Liam!_ ”

Any other time, Liam would be attempting to not strain an eye muscle, rolling them as hard as he can, over his mother's shoulder at his father's barely controlled smirk (even as a genuine smile stretches his features because nothing is quite the same comfort as Mum's arms and the smell of detergent and home baking clinging to her favourite cardigan).

This time, however, he's pretty sure his grin is a bit wonky, too nervous about the fact that Zayn's still around the corner, somewhat frozen, and it transfers onto Liam; stiff as cardboard and about as responsive when his mum wraps her arms around him.

As she releases him, Liam feels rather than sees Zayn step up behind him.

“Oh - Zayn, love; you been keeping an eye on our Liam, have you?” Her smile is as warm as it ever is when it comes to Zayn, although her eyes dart back to Liam as if reminded of the reason for this weekend's visit.

“Something like that,” Zayn replies, much more smoothly than the fish impression he'd been putting on not two minutes ago.

And - because Zayn Malik might just be a fucking angel sent to save Liam's wretched soul (or at least his arse) - he takes a step closer to Liam, so they’re shoulder to shoulder, and slips an arm loosely around Liam's waist.

There's a visible _click_ as Liam watches each of his family's faces switch from ‘Oh’ to ‘ _Ohh_ ’, eyes widening by degrees.

And he's not too sure whether to be relieved or confused or somewhere in between when that is all it takes for his family to accept the situation and move on - literally forward as they all pile in through the door - embracing both Liam and Zayn by turn as they reach them.

Relieved is probably the easier option.

***

Zayn can see Liam's mum biting her tongue more than once during the next hour and a half, and he's never been more grateful for the repetitive, minute questioning they've gotten from near everyone since their return about the tour, and coming home, and how recording went and the film and _no of course you didn't look old on screen, Mum_.

Somehow, they manage to steer clear of the elephant in the room during the entirety of dinner; even as it bumps at their elbows every time one of them makes a move.

Karen keeps flicking her eyes between them, losing her train of thought in the middle of a story as she worries at her lip with her teeth. Her expression seems torn, uncertain as yet whether she's pleased or concerned with the new turn of events (Zayn's got to admit he's more or less with her on that, on what the hell her son was thinking that lead to this), but she hasn't yet voiced an opinion.

Liam's dad is sat opposite Zayn at the large, circular dining room table, and it seems as though every time Zayn looks up, Geoff is sizing him up in a way Zayn hasn't been since he first picked up Stacey Conner for a movie and ice-cream when he was fifteen. The surrealism of the situation - this is the same man that congratulated him for finally corrupting their boy after photos surfaced of Liam's first tattoo - would be almost entertaining if it wasn't so unsettling.

And if Zayn wasn't distracted by the way Ruth and Nicola keep exchanging glances and smirks, in the way only sisters do, every time Liam and Zayn interact in the slightest; _surely_ it shouldn't be a big deal if Liam leans around Zayn to pass the gravy boat directly to Nic as they dish up dinner (Zayn likes meat the way it was cooked to taste, thank you very much) or if they trade wine glasses halfway through the meal (Liam can never stand more than half a glass of red, and Zayn just gets bored, so it's become a habit). Zayn swears they even notice the time Liam falters in his description of the North American leg, somewhere around Vancouver, and Zayn hooks his socked foot around his ankle beneath the table; a small nudge of support.

It really isn't the evening he'd anticipated earlier that afternoon and, although Zayn is certain it could be much worse, it's still all kinds of awkward.

They could, for example, be doing this in front of an additional audience.

Which is why Zayn is sorely tempted to shut the door directly in Louis' face when the doorbell rings, just as they're finishing with the washing up.

“’Vas _happenin’_!” Niall slurs from where he's bouncing up and down behind Louis, while Harry giggles into Louis’ shoulder, who is just staring at Zayn, grinning maniacally.

“Excellent. You're all plastered.”

“ _Oi_ ,” Louis protests, “We aren't that bad. S'only Niall that polished off the majority of our jugs.”

Harry sniggers.

“Jugs.”

“You realise Liam's parents are here, right?”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Louis insists and, to be fair, Zayn has seen Louis perform entire television interviews whilst off his face, with little to no sign of it besides the alcohol on his breath and a slight exaggeration of clinginess, which hardly anyone can ever distinguish from his usual ignorance of personal space.

“’S fine,” Harry repeats. _Harry_ once mistook his hand for the guy's next to him after three beers and threatened to punch him for stealing _'my tattoos. Also my watch_.’ “I'm totally sober. I can recite the alphabet backwards in less than five seconds.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, although, as dubious as the claim is, he knows Harry's telling the truth. Only-

“You do know, babe, you only ever promise that while drunk, right?” Louis tickles Harry under his ribs, causing him to squirm only further into Louis' side.

“Shhh.” Niall still hasn't stopped moving on the front step. “You'll give the jig up.”

“Never had it to begin with, Ni.” Zayn shakes his head at all three of them. “You're not going to leave, are you.”

It's a statement, not a question.

“Nope,” Louis promises cheerfully, “We figured if you guys couldn't come party, then we could bring the party to you.”

“I repeat; Liam's family are all here.”

“I _s’pose_ they can party too,” Harry allows, considering.

“So kind,” Zayn mutters then, realising, “Shit. Fine, okay, but get your arses in the pool room first, yeah?”

“Pool!" Niall forces his way through and leads a solo charge towards Liam's games room; an effort long since resigned to failure to keep the destructive forces of his bandmates confined to a single area.

“Ashamed of us now?” Louis asks, nose in the air as he drags Harry in tow, winking at Zayn because he really is a grade A shit, that one.

"Horribly," Zayn agrees with a smile, "Now just wait there a sec while I fetch Li.”

Zayn turns for the lounge, but doubles back for a moment, grabbing Harry’s hand that isn't gripped tight around Louis' waist and tugging him to Zayn’s side instead, shooing Louis forward without them.

“Thought you were heading out with Nick's lot?" He queries, hushed in the direction he thinks Harry’s ear is hiding beneath his curls.

“’Was. Changed m' mind," Harry murmurs sloppily into Zayn’s neck.

“Yeah?” And maybe the surprise is evident in Zayn’s tone.

Harry nods, turning his head and Zayn follows his gaze, to where Louis is standing hesitantly at the doorway, looking back at them with barely controlled neutrality on his face, waiting to go in after Niall.

“He said please.”

It’s quiet, but it’s also the clearest thing Harry’s said tonight.

“Oh, Haz.”

Zayn rumples his fingers through Harry’s mussed curls and gives him a shove towards the other room; this may be a conversation he is nowhere near done with – they all know they simply can’t continue as they are – but it is in no way the right time for it.

“I’ll be right back, yeah?”

***

Liam jumps a little, almost letting the wet plate he’s drying slip as Zayn’s fingers slide around his hips, pads stroking the warm skin over bone as Zayn stretches his lips to Liam’s ear.

“ _The lads are here_ ,” Zayn hisses, and when Liam turns to look at him, Zayn’s eyes are wide. It takes Liam a second to recognise the problem, but then-

_Shit_.

“But they don’t-”

“Who was at the door, Zayn love?” Karen asks with a smile between them, glancing up from where she’s scrubbing at a stubborn remnant on the roasting dish.

“Uh, the boys,” Liam answers for him, mind racing to the inevitable train wreck about to hit.

“Oh, lovely, haven’t seen them in an age.” She places the dish precariously onto the dish rack over the rest of the clean plates and cutlery.

“Well,” she continues, drying off her hands, “Where are they, then?”

“I-” Liam stutters.

“They’re just in the pool room, right now. Me and Li need to go talk to them for a sec about promotion things; dreary as all hell so thought we’d get it over and done with without boring you to tears as well.”

Considering the circumstances, Zayn seems to be dealing with the situation much better than Liam is, who’s at least had a couple weeks to think this through. Liam’s pretty sure he’s going to be thanking Zayn an awful lot this weekend.

“You know we wouldn’t have minded.”

“We know,” Zayn assures, “But this way you can go put your feet up and we’ll be back in no time.”

Zayn leads him out of the room by the hand, stopping in the hall outside his gaming room, door shut between them and only letting muffled laughter and yelps of complaint filter through.

“We’re going to have to tell them,” Zayn says, bluntly.

_Double shit._

“This is going to be a disaster,” Liam groans, unable to picture an instance when making his friends keep a secret has ever ended well.

“You started it,” Zayn reminds him, adding after a pause, “Which you still have to explain at some point, by the way.”

Liam wonders whether running away to live out his years as a hermit in the Scottish moors is a feasible life plan.

“Fair enough.” He links Zayn’s fingers through his own, for strength. “Best get on with it, then.”

“ _Liam!_ ” is the cacophonous chorus which greets him as they walk through the door, as though they hadn’t seen each other only a few hours ago.

“Are they drunk?” Liam’s voice maybe raises an octave because, seriously, does the world hate him?

“As motherfuckers,” comes Zayn’s reply, forcibly cheerful, grinning back at the loons they call friends.

“Why are you ashamed of us?” Harry asks mournfully from where he’s curled, cat-like, in Louis’ lap on the recliner in the corner; something Liam wasn’t expecting.

“I’m not- _what_?”

“Stop listening to Lou, Harry,” Zayn tells him firmly, with a look that suggests more meaning than the obvious.

“Well then why do you have us trapped in here, hmm?” Louis gestures wide with his arms, demonstrating the clearly squalid conditions of the room filled with cushy furniture, a sinfully large flatscreen and all the associated paraphernalia of gaming consoles, DVD stands and the like.

“I _want_ to be here,” Niall points out with a puff, attempting to line up a shot with an unsteady cue in his hand, sprawled over the pool table with one leg hitched up on the felt, the other flailing in mid-air.

“We need to talk to you,” Zayn brings them all back to point with a sigh of exasperation, “ _before_ you see Liam’s family.”

“Alright.” Louis jostles Harry lightly as he sits up straighter in his seat, “You have my attention.”

Zayn looks to Liam, nodding at him to step up and continue.

“Um,” he begins slowly, “so I haven’t really been myself since- well, since I broke up with Dani.”

“Not news so far,” Niall mutters, missing the ball by a good three inches.

Harry tosses a particularly heavy cushion at the back of Niall’s head, with surprisingly good aim, earning an _oof_ as Harry hisses “ _Shh, subtlety_ , Niall,” – somewhat redundantly, since the entire room could hear it.

Yeah. This definitely isn’t going to end well.

“Well my family got a bit worried,” he perseveres, hoping at least some of this gets through. “So I told them I’m seeing someone new.”

“You’re not, though,” Harry points out helpfully.

Louis looks from Liam to Zayn and back again, eyes narrowed.

“Exactly. So who did you tell them you’re dating?”

Liam gulps.

Zayn takes a step forward.

“Me.”

Louis’ resulting hoot of laughter is so sudden and violent that Harry goes tumbling to the floor with a drawn-out ‘ _Heey_ ’.

“ _Zayn_?” His hands clap together in glee, and Liam praises the heavens that this room is soundproofed. “You told them you and _Zayn_ are together? But what about-”

“Shut it, Lou,” Zayn cuts him off. “It’s fine; it’s just for the weekend and then things will go back to normal yeah, Li?” He looks to Liam for confirmation.

“Y-yeah.” He shakes his head to clear it; of course this is how it’s going to work. “Zayn’s just being a mate so I can convince Mum I’m not about to off myself or ‘ought.”

“And we had to tell you morons so you didn’t say anything stupid,” Zayn finishes, glaring specifically at Louis.

“I am _wounded_ , that you have such low expectations of me,” Louis stands with a dramatic sniff, then bends down to haul Harry up by the elbow, “Now Haz, let us prove to these non-believers just how trustworthy we are.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, throwing an arm around Liam’s shoulders as they follow Harry and Louis out, and Liam tries to will the tightness in his chest away.

“Wait.” They all look back as Niall freezes in the doorway, halfway through the motion of shutting the door behind him. “Does that mean you two are _shagging_?”

Liam has a sinking feeling those ‘low expectations’ weren’t set low enough.

***

“You know what story I _love_ , Karen?” Louis declares during a brief lull in conversation.

Zayn isn’t ashamed to say he was surprised that the first half hour spent in the lounge with everyone’s company was more comfortable than expected. Maybe because the extra faces (and the entertainment their drunk arses provided) dialled down the pressure on him and Liam.

“What’s that now, Louis?” Karen responds, indulgently.

“I _love_ the story of how our Liam and Zayn got together. You haven’t heard that one yet, have you?”

Zayn maybe wonders on a daily basis why he’s even friends with Louis.

“No, I haven’t, Louis, dear-”

“You- I’m sure you don’t want to hear that story, Mum,” Liam tries valiantly to dissuade his mother’s interest; but Zayn can see the glint in Louis’ eye and knows there’ll be no stopping him.

“Oh but it’s such a _romantic_ story, Liam; you can’t deprive your mother of such a tale!”

Only the possibility of exacting revenge at some later date. Zayn is patient.

“Which city was it again, Zayn?” His head whips up to catch Louis’ purportedly innocent expression, smiling encouragingly; the bastard might’ve actually made it as an actor in another life.

Zayn flicks his gaze to Liam, who shrugs uselessly behind his mother’s back. By god did Liam owe him one.

Possibly a dozen.

“Uh, Sydney, I believe,” Zayn answers, mentally working out a city which would allow for a plausible timeline.

“Do you not remember?” Harry asks with an obnoxious grin from beneath Louis’ arm, somewhat more sober than when he’d arrived.

“How can you not remember the day you _finally_ made your move and fell madly in love with our Liam?” Louis accuses.

One day Zayn will off the lot of them and no one will blame him.

Niall looks up from where he’s letting Nic and Ruth paint his nails as though they’re giggly prepubescent girls rather than equally giggly grown women. “I usually can’t even remember what country we’re in.”

Except Niall. He’ll spare Niall.

“Completely different, Ni-” Louis starts, but Zayn cuts him off before this gets any further away from him.

“It was Sydney,” he declares firmly, locking eyes with Liam and getting a small smile in return. “The night after Li and Louis had been off surfing all day.”

“That happened three times,” Louis points out.

“Would _you_ like to bloody well tell the story, then?” Zayn offers, exasperated. It’s weird enough trying to establish a story of something which never happened, around events which certainly did, without Louis interrupting every two seconds.

“Only one of them was a day we didn’t have a show on, though,” Liam offers, before Louis can retort.

Zayn nods. “Exactly.”

“So what’d you boys get up to instead?” Karen asks, keeping them on track, with a soft eagerness to her features which suggests her motherly impatience to hear just how Zayn had managed to turn her son’s frown upside down. And Liam’s face truly had been more or less beaming for much of the night, so maybe this was worth it regardless.

“Not sure you’d like to know.”

“Seriously Lou,” Zayn throws a cushion at Louis’ lewdly winking face.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Louis promises, when even Harry is glaring at him in disapproval. “But get on with it, then.”

He can’t help the moment he takes to simply stare at Louis in disbelief, but Zayn continues as requested.

“Well I asked Liam that morning if he wanted to get some dinner when he got back, ‘cause we hadn’t really had much of a chance to hang out, just the two of us, for ages.”

“Zayn gets really pouty when Liam doesn’t pay enough attention to him,” Harry ‘helps’ out.

“I do not,” Zayn argues, resisting the muscles which fight to pull his lips into that exact expression.

“You do; it’s unfairly attractive.” Louis pets Harry’s hair absentmindedly. “And Liam had been a mopey git for almost as long, what with the two of them always having had that weird bond between them; we made Zayn promise to quit pining and finally make a move, already.”

Zayn had thought the part of the evening which he spent with mouth agape had passed. Apparently not; Louis seems to be taking to heart the offer to tell the story himself.

“He had Harry help him pack a picnic basket and everything,” Niall pipes up, then frowns. “And then made me go out front of the hotel and act as diversion.”

Zayn has to hide his scoff in the back of his throat, because if that was how Niall was planning on explaining away the incident involving him leaving their rooms and getting as far as the very public lobby doors before remembering he hadn’t thrown any trousers over his boxers on his way out, then he’d be sorely disappointed that this particular tale wasn’t going further than Liam’s lounge.

Also, he’s back on Zayn’s hit list.

“It was all very romantic.” Harry smiles from Liam to Zayn to Liam’s family, looking almost genuine, and not the shit-eating git that he truly is.

Liam speaks up for the first time in a while, fond crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he focuses on Zayn.

“I still can’t believe you managed to find a place for us to sit and eat without being interrupted.”

He shrugs a little, self-conscious.

“’Was worth it. I’d missed you.”

Louis clears his throat loudly, and Zayn looks away from Liam to catch Harry pretending to gag and Niall grinning at them in this strange manner that leaves Zayn puzzled.

“And then what happened?” Nic presses; hot pink polish lying forgotten now next to Niall’s exposed toes. “You jump him in amongst the bushes or summat?”

“Zayn had prepared a dead sensitive speech about how ardently he-”

Louis is silenced by the glare Zayn sends him, one he’s sure would maim anyone who didn’t have such an impressively thick skull.

“I told him he was one of my best mates,” Zayn says simply. “I told him I hated seeing him hurting and that it hurt me too.”

“And _then_ you told him you could make him feel better and jumped him in the bushes!” Niall crows triumphantly, holding his stomach as he cackles face first into the sofa cushions.

It wouldn’t be hard to poison some of Niall’s food, surely, Zayn considers.

“Something like that,” Liam shakes his head with a sigh, but he looks up across the room at Zayn through his eyelashes, a smirk on his lips.

Karen looks between them, eyes sparkling and teeth digging into her lower lip to prevent a grin from blossoming too wide.

“Oh, that’s lovely, boys. I really am pleased for the two of you.”

“Hear, hear!” Ruth raises the dregs of her wine glass in the air and insists everyone else does the same; they’re all on the spectrum of smiling happily to laughing in delight, even Geoff, who’s finally dropped his slightly suspicious demeanour to clap a hand to Zayn’s shoulder, squeezing an approval that makes something tighten in Zayn’s stomach.

“Now _kiss_!” Louis cries gleefully, pushing Liam from his seat to the middle of the room.

Louis’ death would be slow. Torturous, even.

“No, no,” Liam ducks his head, twisting his foot into the carpet and refusing to meet anyone’s eye. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“ _Kiss, kiss, kiss_.” The chant comes from the lads and Liam’s sisters, with far too much enthusiasm. Karen isn’t joining them, but the twinkle in her eye is answer enough as to what she expects, and Geoff’s hand releases Zayn with a gentle shove to prod Zayn to his feet.

He mentally shrugs and takes a step forward; _what the hell_ \- it’s not like this is entirely new between them.

It’s only a few short metres to bring Zayn close to Liam’s side. He grips Liam’s face firmly beneath his hands, smacking a loud, wet kiss to Liam’s cheek to a chorus of disappointed boos.

“A _real_ kiss, Zayn,” Louis hollers over the noise.

This wasn’t what Zayn signed up for. He doesn’t know how to do this; has never really been able to act convincingly to strangers, let alone those who know and love him.

He’s staring into Liam’s eyes, feeling the crease form in his brow as he tries to figure out exactly what it is Liam needs from him here, how he wants him to play this - because he will, for Liam.

And the reply is in Liam’s actions; in the way Liam slowly, hesitantly, brings his hands - calloused and trembling minutely - to cup Zayn’s face this time.

This time it’s Liam who leans forward first, one of the first contacts he’s initiated between them tonight – or ever, even, when it comes to the public affection they show each other. It’s Liam who tilts his head slightly, slots their lips together in a soft but insistent press to Zayn’s.

It’s only a millisecond of a moment before Zayn presses back into it. Both of their lips are dry, chapped, and it mightn’t make for the best kiss he’s ever had, but Zayn’s stomach makes confused little flips anyway.

And when Liam’s tongue swipes out for the briefest time, moistening their lips and tracing the seam of Zayn’s closed mouth, his hands tighten where they’d dropped to Liam’s shoulders, pushing with more force into the kiss for the final second before Liam pulls back.

Zayn doesn’t mean to gasp lightly at the loss, and both of them are panting just a little as they watch each other with wide eyes and ignore the catcalls around them as they slowly, slowly drop their hands to their sides, leaving cold gaps in their place.

Liam grins sheepishly at him and Zayn’s stomach flops over once more before finally settling.

***

The boys are in no fit state to head home under their own steam, so they’re all piled into one of the bedrooms once Nic _assures_ Liam she’ll be fine kipping with Ruth for the one night. Their sloppy goodnight kisses to Liam’s forehead and Zayn’s cheek are affectionate and sleepy and he’s pretty sure Niall did indeed just rebound off the doorframe before being corrected by gentle prodding from Louis coming up behind him.

Zayn looks as though he might follow them, but Liam clasps his hand around his wrist before he gets too far.

“My room?” It wasn’t supposed to sound so much like a question; the spare bed could fit three comfortably enough, but four would be needlessly crammed when Liam’s bed is far too big for just him.

Zayn grins at him. “I know, but all my gear is still in there.” He goes to move forward again, but Liam tightens his grip on him and tugs Zayn along the landing towards the master bedroom. Liam’s not sure when it became easier to talk to Zayn if he didn’t have to look at him.

“Yeah I- your stuff’s already in my room.” Liam flicks on the light for his room and points out the half-empty duffel and pile of unsorted clothes thrown in the corner, in front of the empty wardrobe opposite to Liam’s. “From when we were tidying this afternoon,” he answers Zayn’s unasked question.

When he does look over to Zayn, the other boy just shakes his head a little and shucks off his shirt, adding it to the existing heap of washing, then jerks his head in the direction of the door. Liam moves automatically to shut it before Zayn drops his jeans and pulls back the covers on the side of the bed that isn’t Liam’s.

“Come on Li; time for bed, yeah?”

And it’s not new, nowhere near the first time - even for this stay alone, Zayn has probably spent more nights with Liam than not; but something in Liam still aches when Zayn wearily pats at the duvet and snuggles deeper beneath the covers as Liam begins to strip off his layers of clothes.

Tonight, though, once Liam plunges them into darkness and slips beneath the blankets, there are all of these gaps between them which are new; bare strips of mattress which lie cold against Liam’s skin as the sheets warm to his body heat. And something stops Liam from crossing them to feel the familiar heat of Zayn’s skin sink into his own.

“What made you think this was ever going to be a good idea?” Zayn’s voice comes from the dark, his tone curiously flat. Liam doesn’t turn his head to try and search out a reflection of light from his eyes, instead continuing to stare at the inky black of the ceiling slowly turn a murky grey as his eyes adjust to the dim.

He answers honestly; he owes Zayn that much, even if it’s a pitiful truth. “I don’t know. Or, I didn’t think at all? Whether it’d be good _or_ bad. It just slipped out and then I couldn’t figure out how to take it back.”

Liam mightn’t be able to see Zayn but that doesn’t mean he can’t picture the way his left eyebrow is peaked in disbelief, emphasised by the short snort of an exhale next to him.

“And you didn’t think to let me in on this _before_ your parents arrived?”

Zayn is shuffling under the covers, and Liam rolls onto his side towards him, muffles his words into his pillow.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up. ’Was afraid you’d say no if you had a chance to think about it.”

“Because if I’d just refused the moment your family showed up it’d be that much easier for you?”

“Didn’t think you would ever let me down if it came that close,” Liam admits, and yeah, that was probably a crappy thing for him to do, but it had taken the entire afternoon to work up the nerve to tell Zayn the real reason he needed him – or at least the most pressing – and he truly _hadn’t_ known how to casually bring up the fact that he’d told his parents he was now dating his best mate _to_ said best mate.

When Zayn speaks again, he’s close enough that Liam can feel his breath, warm and minty, on his face. It brings up the memory of that stupid kiss Louis made them do earlier, when Zayn still tasted of wine and apple crumble, and Liam inhales sharply as his chest tightens unexpectedly.

“Yeah. More fool me, huh?” Zayn murmurs, almost to himself, “Because shitty as that was, Liam, it wasn’t even the shittiest part of what you did.”

“Zayn?” Liam doesn’t know what to make of his remark, or the way Zayn shrugs Liam’s tentative touch to his shoulder and rolls onto his back again, instead. “Zayn, please tell me what I did.”

He scoffs, turning his head briefly to Liam before staring up resolutely at the ceiling Liam hadn’t been able to find any wisdom in earlier.

“Three and a half years, Li,” he whispers, twisted disbelief in his voice, “You never told me you were bi.”

Oh. It hadn’t even crossed Liam’s mind.

“I- does it matter?” He asks it hesitantly, for the first time nervous about the response to his sexuality since he was sixteen – the last time he’d ever had to tell someone.

“Of course it doesn’t!” Zayn’s voice is raised a little now, a hiss of exasperation. “It’d be a bit fucking hypocritical wouldn’t it?” And yeah, they’d all known since the early days, definitely since the X-Factor, that Zayn wasn’t going to make a decision on someone because of which bits they did or didn’t have, so maybe that was a silly question, but-

“So what is it, then?” Liam keeps his voice hushed, both a natural response to the intimacy of the night, and cowed by Zayn’s fuming anger.

“ _Liam_ ,” and the frustration is clear in Zayn’s tone, “You’re my _best_ _mate._ ” He enunciates each word. “It’s kind of a big fucking deal to keep from someone for that long.”

Okay, maybe that does make sense. Liam tries to think how he’d feel if Zayn had only just told him now about his sexuality and, while Liam knows it’d never make him love Zayn any less than he does (he can’t think of anything that could change that), he’s pretty sure he’d be more than a bit hurt that Zayn had never thought to trust him with it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not daring to reach out again just now, “It never came up – I was with Dani for so much of the last three years, and no guy’s ever caught my attention any other time-”

“S’okay, Liam, I just- go to sleep yeah?” Zayn rolls over once more, his back now towards Liam, effectively ending the conversation.

“I _am_ sorry,” Liam tells him, tugging the covers up under his chin to stop his shivering. “Goodnight.”

He’s almost asleep when he hears it, soft and without any trace of lingering anger, but he’s sure it’s not part of his dream.

“’Night, Li.”

***

He sleeps pretty shit, in the end, fighting the instinct to curl up next to Liam.

Zayn gives up on it altogether at about half seven, far earlier than he had any right to on a Saturday morning which they had _off_ , no less.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t forgiven Liam, he had – almost as soon as the words left his mouth, removed from his chest, he could already feel his frustration with Liam waning – but he’d wanted Liam to realise that, even though it was clearly a genuine oversight – wasn’t an intentional lack of confidence in Zayn – it still meant something to Zayn.

To be honest, even Zayn isn’t all that sure what that _something_ is. But it exists.

He slips from bed as carefully as he can, looking back to make sure he hasn’t woken Liam, snuffling softly in sleep, hand half extended to the place where Zayn had been lying restlessly.

Zayn smiles tenderly for a moment before he tugs on a pair of Liam’s sweats and a singlet he’s fairly certain originally belonged to neither of them, but which he misappropriated as his own over a year ago now, and ducks out the door and down the stairs towards the kitchen, where barely lowered voices and an undercurrent of music carries along the hall.

***

When Liam blinks himself awake, sun is filtering through the blinds and highlighting the empty space next to him, the sheets cool to the touch. He rolls in the opposite direction and the clock ticks over to display 09:21 in green LED, still blurry to Liam’s vision.

As he lies there, willing the motivation to move might strike him, noises from downstairs filter upwards and through the crack in the door. Girlish shrieks and then Zayn’s familiar cackling laugh, followed by a yelp of his own. Liam grins, inspired to find the source of the entertainment.

His sisters’ bedroom door is wide open when Liam pads out to the landing in boxers and a hoodie, old footy socks tugged on over his feet. Both his parents and the lads’ doors are still firmly shut, and he doesn’t blame them; his parents likely want to avoid the madness for as long as they can, while the boys are probably still passed out in an effort to avoid their hangovers for as long as physically possible.

With each step, the background noises of the kitchen fan and the tinny quality of early 00’s pop blasting from cheap phone speakers against the kitchen bench carries clearer, and the scent of baking wafts closer.

Liam cracks the kitchen door open as quietly as possible, peeking through to the sight which has him stifling a snigger.

His sisters appear to have recruited Zayn into helping them with breakfast, if the floury state of his- well his _entire_ torso, really – is anything to go by.

And, as Nicki tries to tend to whatever is in the frying pan through the tears streaming down her cheeks, Zayn’s also delighting her and Ruth with his own rendition of _Skater Boi,_ with far more hip-swaying than Liam ever recalls Avril Lavigne injecting into the performance. Ruth, for her part, is dancing maniacally next to him, as they scream lyrics into each other’s faces.

Liam makes himself known just as the instrumental ends and the three of them are jumping, heavy-footed, around the breakfast bar.

“ _He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious?”_ He does a wee spin on the spot as he sings, grinning back at Zayn’s beaming smile when he’s facing them all again.

“ _We are in love, haven’t you heard?_ ” The two of them sing as Liam approaches the counter, his sisters making hearts with their hands just as Liam remembers them doing when he was a kid and they used to play her album (on cassette) throughout the house over and over again.

“ _HOW WE ROCK EACH OTHER’S WO-O-ORRLDD!_ ” All four of them scream at the top of their lungs, collapsing into laughter, doubled at the heavy _thump_ from the floor above them, followed shortly after by a grumpy, “Shut the _fuck_ up, sober _bastards_.”

This does nothing to quieten their mirth, but Zayn does move to turn down the music volume a touch or three, while Nic ruffles Liam’s bed hair, smacking a kiss to his forehead.

“Why, good morning, Brother McTiredArse.”

“You’re actually terrible at coming up with names; you know that right?”

“Oi,” Ruth flicks the spatula in his direction from where her back is turned to him, watching the stove. “We made you pikelets, you ungrateful cretin.”

“Pikelets? For me? Please, you know I never mean anything horrible I say when I have the two best sisters in the whole wide world,” Liam bats his eyes innocently at his sisters, not willing to take any chances when it comes to the magic that are pikelets – miniature pancakes that somehow manage to cram double the brilliance into less than half the size. His gran’s recipe was always the best, and he’s pretty sure he has it lying around somewhere, but he’s hardly ever home long enough, and with the inclination, to make them himself.

“Best boyfriend too, I reckon,” Nicki tells him; “Went and got more eggs when we were half-through and realised you were bloody out.”

“ _We_ were just gonna give up and make you finish them off whenever you got your lazy arse out of bed,” Ruth adds. “We ain’t got no time for things like that.”

Liam looks over to Zayn, who shrugs, swiping a couple of the cooked pikelets from under the tea-towel keeping them warm, and passing one to Liam.

“I was hungry.”

“Didn’t mean you were gonna go until we told you they were Liam’s _favourite_ ,” Ruth teases, skilfully managing to both transfer a precarious stack of fresh pikelets to the cooked pile, and toss a wink in Liam and Zayn’s direction.

Liam rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder as he munches on his food, wrapping his free arm around his waist for good measure when Zayn doesn’t move away, seemingly in a much better mood this morning.

“Thank you.” He twists his head to smile up at Zayn with crinkle-cornered eyes, nuzzling against the warmth of Zayn’s neck, when Zayn drops a _you’re welcome_ and a peck to Liam’s hair.

They look over to see his sister’s watching them with sappy expressions and, honestly, this time they weren’t even _thinking_ about putting on a show, or Liam wasn’t, at least. His family _know_ how they interact; as advantageous as it might be this weekend, it is a little ridiculous how easily his _family_ even will believe this lie.

Surely the difference between friendship and a relationship should be obvious.

But then Zayn tickles Liam’s side under his jumper, and rubs his stubbled cheek over the muss of Liam’s hair.

“You best go for your run now before you stuff yourself, babe,” he murmurs, “Otherwise you won’t want to go, or you’ll get a stitch, and if you don’t have it this morning you’ll be grumpy all afternoon.”

“Will not,” Liam protests, even though Zayn’s mostly right; he does get restless if he hasn’t been able to just get out and _move_ at some point during the day, and morning is usually the most convenient time. Still, he squeezes the back of Zayn’s neck and swipes the last bite of his unfinished pikelet as he stands up, leaving the kitchen to Zayn’s squawk and his sisters’ laughter.

And as he replays the interaction through his head, while he ties his laces and untangles his headphones, he realises; it’s maybe not even clear to _him_ where the difference between his friendship with Zayn and their supposed relationship lies.

He scrolls through his iPod for his running playlist, bouncing on his feet as he heads for the front door.

As _put on your war paint_ pounds through his ear drums, Liam’s sure the exercise is all he needs to clear his head.

Because he and Zayn are friends.

Nothing more.

***

Liam’s sisters really are of the good sort, when they aren’t trying to make Zayn blush with ridiculous insinuations about their relationship. At some moments he does wonder whether they are actually fully aware of what is – or _isn’t_ – going down between he and Liam.

Either way, they’re going to milk this weekend for all it’s worth.

After Liam leaves for his daily run, the girls convince Zayn to watch the last of the pikelets cooking on the stove while they fetch their parents and perform the unenviable task of rousing his undoubtedly hungover friends (although it did seem as though their singing earlier might have acted as an initial alarm for them).

Karen and Geoff greet him with warm _good morning_ ’s and _this looks lovely, zayn, thank you- yes you too, girls_.

They have a proper spread set out; juice and coffee and jam, nutella and yoghurt for with the pikelets, even some whipped cream that Zayn picked up earlier, since he was already at the shop for eggs (although, after thorough trials, Zayn is pretty sure plain pikelets straight from the pan are still the best choice).

The five of them have more or less had their fill by the time Niall, Louis and Harry stumble down the stairs, led more by their shuffling feet and the wafting smell of breakfast than their still-bleary and bloodshot eyes.

Louis and Niall at least dig in with some fervour, although Harry still looks a little green around the gills as he picks gingerly at a single plain pikelet. Zayn’s a little glad that he’s in Liam’s room and therefore can use his en suite; he’s not sure he wants to see the state of the boy’s bathroom this morning.

Zayn decides not to wait for them to finish their food; they’re not much for talking just yet anyway, and they can clean up after themselves since Zayn’s spent the better part of three hours helping make a fair feast for their consumption (okay, a good portion of that was probably spent screwing around, but they don’t need to know that). And besides, Zayn notes as he runs a hand through his bed hair and comes away with small clumps dried batter; he could really do with a shower.

Liam’s shower actually is a little bit of a lot like heaven, in Zayn’s opinion. It’s large enough for at least a couple people – probably more – and has the sense to have enough shelving for both Liam’s and his products within easy access. And, more importantly, it had not only one of the most incredible rain-dome shower heads - which never failed to feel amazing whether you had aching muscles or just half a bakery clinging to you – but also a shower pod to trap all the steam and turn the shower into a veritable sauna after a few minutes. Zayn’s not sure why anyone would ever pay to visit a spa when they could just get one of these contraptions installed in their own home. Or in their friends’.

He takes his time, making sure to remove every smear of flour and batter from his skin, and shampoos his hair an extra once or twice, just to be certain there won’t be any gluey residue when he combs it later. It takes an almost superhuman effort to finally switch off the water, soaking up the steam for a final moment before pushing the glass door open and reaching for the towel on the rack, which is so fluffy Zayn’s fairly certain it must still be new.

He dries himself off, foregoing the hairdryer he knows to be tucked in the bottom drawer of the vanity since he doesn’t plan on going anywhere today and Liam always likes running his fingers through Zayn’s unstyled strands since his own hair is still too short to do so adequately.

Zayn tosses the towel into the hamper by the door, but it’s not until he’s pulling the door back to the bedroom open that he notices the monstrous spider sitting on the lid, glaring menacingly up at Zayn (or so Zayn believes; he’s never met a docile one). And it’s not that he’s _scared_ of spiders as such – he’s fully capable of dealing with them, even if he’s not one of those weirdos (and he’d be looking at Harry if he was within sight) who feels it’s their civil duty to release the crafty arseholes back into the wild to creep another day.

But, fuck it, this is one of the jumpy ones. Of course it is. You see, the way Zayn sees it, at least with the regular kind you know where you stand with them. Both of you can more or less go about your business, keeping a healthy and respectable distance from one another. But the jumpy ones; those fuckers are all over the place, and they _are_ out to get Zayn. And every encounter can only end one of two ways – he or the spider _will_ die. And Zayn isn’t ready to die.

The bastard leaps without warning from the hamper to the door, right by the lock, thankfully already ajar. At this point, it comes down to a staring contest; Zayn needs to swiftly and silently open the door, get through, and then tug on just enough clothes to sprint down to the cupboard in the hall where the fly-spray is kept and back to yippee-ki-yay the motherfucker before it has a chance to move, and hide under Zayn’s pillow or in his shoe.

He nudges the door open with his toes, leaning back so as to have maximum reaction distance should the spider decide to attack. When it’s as far open as Zayn dares (if he bumps the door against anything it might jolt the sucker into action), it’s time for the most skilful stage – the quickstep through the door and into the bedroom whilst maintaining eye-contact with the spider for the entire manoeuvre.

Zayn, of course, is a professional, and so he’s still alive when his feet press into the thick carpet covering Liam’s bedroom floor. Which leads to the final, gold medal sprint, first to the stack of washing by the wardrobe to pull on his discarded sweatpants-

_SMACK_

He doesn’t make it as far as two metres from the bathroom door when he runs straight into a solid lump of- Liam. Zayn’s eyes run the length of him- _naked_ Liam, looking bewildered where he’s fallen flat on his arse, with iPod still clasped in one hand, headphones half falling out, and legs tangled up with Zayn’s where they landed–

_Shit_

_Zayn’s still naked, too._

He rapidly jerks backwards, disentangling them, before realising the movement took him closer to the spider again, causing him to leap up and grab the first thing in arm’s reach – Liam’s duvet (which doesn’t relinquish itself from the bed to Zayn’s grasp as quickly as he’d prefer) – to cover himself and side-skirt Liam – who’s still on the carpet, attempting to tug back on a pair of shorts and still looking as confused as ten seconds ago – until his back is against the wardrobe, and he can attempt to breathe again.

“What. The fuck,” he gasps out, gesturing at Liam, and the bathroom door, and the world in general, really.

“Um,” Liam manages, “What the fuck do you mean by ‘what the fuck’? _You_ just ran straight into me completely fucking starkers.”

“I- I’d just had a _shower_.” Zayn’s voice is maybe still an octave higher than normal, and his eyes keep darting back to check the spider hasn’t disappeared yet, which, by the way, “And there was a fucking _spider_. Why the hell are _you_ naked?”

“This is my _room_ , Zayn, I’m allowed to be naked in it. And I just got back from my run, I was about to get into the shower too – I hadn’t taken my music out yet so I guess I didn’t hear you,” Liam explains slowly, as though calming a hysterical child; Zayn would feel offended if it wasn’t possibly working. “And a _spider_ , Zayn? Oh,” and this time his lips twist and his tone turns sympathetic, “was it one of the jumpy kind?”

Zayn’s heart rate is slowly returning back to normal.

“Maybe.”

“Do you need me to kill it?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows seriously.

He looks up at Liam from where his toes are scuffing at the carpet.

“Please?”

“Okay, Zayn,” Liam sighs, heaving himself from the floor, “You keep an eye on it so it doesn’t try and trick us and I’ll be right back.”

***

Liam’s mum finds him just as he’s returning the fly spray to the hall cupboard; spider most definitively dead and Zayn disappeared to god-knows-where.

He still hasn’t gotten his shower.

“Are you boys quite alright?” she questions, eyebrow arched and arms folded in front of her, as if she isn’t entirely sure she wants to know, although she does seem to be demanding an answer, what with the way she’s sidled between Liam and the cupboard.

“There was an incident,” Liam responds grimly. If possible, his mother’s brow raises even higher, and Liam rattles the can in her direction in explanation. “Of the spider variety.”

“Oh.” Liam’s pretty sure she doesn’t _actually_ understand the seriousness of the situation, so he just reaches around her to sit the can back on the shelf and moves to back away again, maybe check whether the boys all got rides home, or if Niall wants a lift to his brother’s place. But Karen places a gentle hand on his forearm before he can remove it from the cupboard. “Liam, love, I just wanted to say-” She pauses, biting her lip.

Liam tilts his head to the side, frowning just slightly. “Yeah, Mum?”

His mum rubs his arm comfortingly, smile spreading across her face again.

“I just wanted to tell you how happy I am about you and Zayn. I’ve got to admit, I was a little sceptical – Zayn and you have always been close but I’d never imagined _this_ …really, sweetie, you do match kind of perfectly, don’t you?”

“Mum.” Liam can feel himself flushing and, as much as he wanted his family to believe he was seeing Zayn, was doing fine, he’s not sure it’s a good thing for them to be _this_ attached to the idea. “We’re not-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she waves him off. “I know you don’t want your old Mum fussing and embarrassing you with such things. But, Liam, I’m just really happy to see _you_ happy.”

She pats his cheek gently, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone with a whispered _don’t let go of him_ , and then slips away as quickly as she arrived, winking over her shoulder as she wanders down the hall, calling Liam’s father’s name as she goes.

Liam sighs heavily as he closes the door and watches her go.

It was hard enough telling his mother the lie that he and Zayn were together; it’s beginning to look as though it might be a whole lot more difficult to break the news of their split once the weekend is over.

But Liam can’t imagine any situation where he can escape doing so.

***

When Zayn goes down to the lounge, now dressed and significantly more calm, only Louis is to be found, slouched into the cushions and tapping away at his phone. He glances briefly at Zayn as he drops into the closest armchair, closing his eyes for a moment – he’s been awake for far too long considering its barely gone midday.

“Spider?”

“Maybe.”

“Heh. Liam rescue you?”

“Yep. Because unlike you, he _cares_ about my safety.”

“You were never in danger, Zayn.”

There’s a pause as Zayn fights the urge to deny this fact.

“You got a hangover?”

“Fucking stinker.”

“You deserve it.”

Louis drops his phone to the cushion next to him, meeting Zayn’s gaze with barely concealed incredulity. “Excuse you?”

Zayn sits forward, rubbing his eyes; he didn’t _actually_ want to get into this, at least not right this second, but he’s started nowand Louis isn’t likely to drop it.

“You got Harry to go drinking with you last night.”

“And?”

“You _know_ what, Lou. You’ve gotta leave off him a bit.”

“No, I don’t _fucking know_ , Zayn. I asked Harry out for a drink with me and Niall last night because we’d earned it and I miss by bloody best mate from time to time and why the _hell_ am I defending my actions to you?” Louis’ sitting upright now, too, and he might be saying things professing his innocence to the situation, but Zayn knows he’s never this outright defensive unless Louis knows he’s in the wrong. He bounces his leg, fidgeting, without looking Zayn in the face. “I don’t have time to have a stupid fight that’s only going on in your head, Zayn; El’s gonna be here to pick me up in a minute.”

“Well that’s pretty much it, isn’t it?” Zayn doesn’t even know why he’s letting himself get this worked up over this; he can tell himself it’s out of concern for his mates, but he can feel the anger working its way through his veins, tapping his fingers in a tattoo against the armrest of his chair. “And don’t say you have no clue what I’m on about, Louis, because that’s a load of shit. And the thing is, I _get it_ , okay? I get that you were in a shitty situation, and that you didn’t mean to fall for both of them, and even why you wanted to give it a proper go with Eleanor. You weren’t trying to be the bad guy, Lou.”

Louis’ head has dropped to be cushioned by his forearms, hung between his knees, and it’s not often you see the fight go out of Louis Tomlinson. Zayn doesn’t even want to finish the reprimanding, but he thinks they both know Louis needs to hear it.

“But you’ve kinda turned into him – the bad guy. Harry knows as well as me – probably a whole lot better – what you were trying to do when you left him. But that’s the thing; you _did leave him_. And that kid fucking _loves_ you, Louis. You know that. And yeah, you’re still best mates, but you were _more_ than that for a significant damn period of time. You’ve seen how screwed up Liam’s been since Danielle left – imagine what he’d be like if he still had to see her every fucking day for months after she told him it was over; if she still hugged him and kissed him and slept in the same goddamn bed.” Zayn stops. Takes a deep breath. “He loves you – still. And I know you love him too, and I know neither of you do so in the same way you did six months ago, but. You’ve gotta give him space, Lou.”

Louis looks up at him with a wonky smile wavering in place.

“I just miss him.”

“I know you do. But you can’t just take ten steps back every time you miss him and drag him back to your side until you’re ready to go see Eleanor again.” Zayn waves his hand in the direction of Louis’ phone. “It’s not fair on either of you.”

“I-”

A car horn toots from the driveway.

Zayn smiles small and just a little the other side of genuine.

“You should go. Spend the day with El.”

Louis stands, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“I am sorry, you know?” He says quietly. Then, “Are we okay, Zayn?”

Zayn stands abruptly, running his hand over the back of his head. “Shit, of course we are.” He pulls Louis into a quick hug, squeezing tight around his shoulders. “Just because you’re a raging tosser sometimes doesn’t change that; otherwise we’d never be friends more than a week at a time.” He shoves Louis away when he bursts into laughter with a muttered _takes one to know one_.

“I’ll talk to you later on, yeah?”

“’Course, mate. Keep an eye on our Li, right?” He shoots Zayn a look that he can’t quite decipher.

“As if I’d be doing anything else,” Zayn laughs, giving a final wave as Louis shuts the front door behind him, and releasing a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

***

The rest of the day goes by without much excitement; everyone feels more like mooching around home than facing the circus that often accompanies any excursion with Liam or Zayn. _Plenty of time tomorrow for that, loves_ , his Mum assures them, when Liam apologises for making things difficult, and Ruth and Nicola remind them all that they were promised a shopping trip next time they made it to London.

Instead, they end up playing cards, fighting over house rules and getting told to pipe down by Liam’s dad when their noise carries far enough to disturb him where he’s set up the telly with whichever rugby tour is on at the moment.

By the time he flops into bed next to Zayn, letting out a loud _whoosh_ of air as he hits the pillow, he’s more than ready for bed, even if he can’t pinpoint anything that could leave him quite so tired.

“You alright there, Grandad?” Zayn teases.

“Hey!” Liam protests, “Who fell asleep halfway through the film tonight?”

“It was _Legally Blonde,_ Li.”

“It’s a _classic_ , Zayn.”

“Ugh, fine; we’re as bad as each other, okay?”

Liam settles comfortably beneath the covers. “It’ll do.”

They lie in silence for a minute or two, an easier quiet than that of the previous night; the memory of which brings Liam to speak softly to the darkness.

“I realised I was bi when I was fourteen years old.” He’s close enough to Zayn to feel him stiffen next to him for a moment, before relaxing back into the mattress. “I told my parents a year later, after I kissed Matt Thompson after footy practice for a good ten seconds in the changing rooms – right until he ‘came to his senses’ and pushed me far enough away to punch me in the face.”

Zayn’s hand is on his arm where Liam had pulled them from under the blankets, making inverted commas in the air. “You don’t have to tell me, you know.”

Liam turns his head, smiles at him in the dark, and thinks Zayn must catch it, because he can just make out the brief flash of white against the grey in return.

“I know; but I want to – I want you to know. I want you to know _all_ the important things.” Liam waits a second, finds his place in the story again. “It didn’t really amount to anything – my parents didn’t care who I liked, as long as I made sure they liked _me_ enough to not throw punches next time. And Matt was so far in the closet that he never told anyone else. I told a couple of my mates in fifth form too – the ones I knew wouldn’t care – but I never liked another guy enough to bother spreading that information any further. The last time I told anyone was at bloody _Modest_ of all people, something about it being pertinent to my contract. Pretty much the opposite of who I wanted to tell, but I was a bit too scared to tell them to fuck off, back then.”

“Li-”

“What else?” Liam grins, now, the past already forgotten. “The first video game I ever played was the original Crash Bandicoot, and I will _never_ forgive myself for losing the super cheat to unlock all the levels. I’ve been thinking about getting a new tattoo soon, but I’m not sure if it’d be too cheesy to get a- well, you probably don’t remember, but that first Christmas as a band? And you – bloody artistic show-off,” - he reaches over and pokes Zayn’s side, choking out a gurgled laugh when he squawks - “drew those cards for us? Well I thought, maybe, I could get that little logo you doodled to represent us all tatted somewhere. The one that was _us_.” The _and not what they made us_ Liam doesn’t say aloud, doesn’t need to; Zayn knows.

Liam tucks his hands behind his head, and the ceiling above them doesn’t seem so threatening tonight. He finishes speaking before Zayn can cut in. “And I know I’ve always said that if we weren’t here then I’d want to be a fireman, but the thought of getting burned kinda terrifies me- shut _up_. Arsehole. No.” Liam shoves Zayn’s attempts to cuddle into his side away as punishment for laughing – he’s still bloody gasping for breath even as he tries to hide it in Liam’s neck. “You see if I ever tell you anything ever again. I hadn’t even told you the good one, twat.”

“ _Nooo_. _Liii_ ,” Zayn whines, grappling with him until Liam gives up and lets Zayn curl up next to him, tangling his goddamn _freezing_ feet with Liam’s. Let no one ever say Liam isn’t a good friend. “I wanna know the rest of the story. Lee-yum.”

He drags out Liam’s name like he used to; when Liam used to frown at Zayn for sneaking outside for a cigarette, and Zayn would look at him with big, possum eyes, and Liam could never stay mad, grew accustomed to the thick smell of smoke that clung to his jacket. It feels like they were mere children back then. But Zayn’s gently curious voice drags him back to the present.

“Tell me what you wanted to be? I won’t laugh. Promise.”

***

Zayn waits patiently for Liam’s response, drumming a rhythm he can’t quite place into Liam’s hip.

“A cop.”

And Zayn smiles into Liam’s shoulder because, yeah, he can picture that. Liam running around in that uniform – as recognisable as he is now on the street, yet entirely anonymous – and doing that thing he does where he wants to help everybody, putting it to good use. And maybe it’d mean Liam would have had to lose some of that sheer faith he seems to place in everyone – gullibility, Louis teases him after one of their more improbable pranks, even Louis in disbelief that Liam fell for it – and he wouldn’t remain quite the same Liam which is _Zayn’s_ Liam, but. Yeah. Policeman Liam is an alternate ending Zayn can envisage.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.” Liam says when Zayn’s silence must become too much for him.

He shakes his head. “And I’m not _going_ to,” he assures. “I was just thinking that Detective Payne has quite a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he sighs sleepily into Liam’s warm skin. “Way better than a fireman. No fucking flimsy looking ladders or godforsaken fireman’s poles.”

Liam musses Zayn’s hair as he chuckles; “Not all of us are afraid of heights, Zayn.”

“Some of us are just aware that we don’t actually have wings, Liam,” he counters. “But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here instead.”

Liam squeezes Zayn’s shoulder. “Me too.”

“And I think it’s cheesy as fuck if you get that tattoo,” Zayn adds. “But I also think _you’re_ cheesy as fuck; and I’m pretty sure I’d be _proud_ as fuck if you decided to ink something into your skin that I drew.”

He whispers the _and I’d boot that Matt guy in the dick if I ever saw him,_ quiet and small, because he knows Liam doesn’t want to get into it, knows Liam probably doesn’t even harbour any ill will towards the tosser anymore – but sometimes it’s nice to know you’re not alone. Solidarity, Zayn thinks.

“This is why I miss you, you know?” Liam rolls onto his side to face Zayn, and it’s not that he thinks the words are untrue – just unexpected, when Zayn can make out how serious Liam’s eyes are in the dark, a distance so short from his own. “Why I hate myself for holding you away sometimes. When you’re the mate I wish I’d had my whole life and not just the past three years. When you do things like say that, or this entire weekend. Or that night in Sydney.”

And Zayn has to fight an instinct to grip Liam close to him and never let go.

He thinks of dragging Liam out the back entrance that night – thrift shop clothes and dark glasses, fake facial hair begged off of Lou – out of the hotel and away, away, _away_ from it all. He remembers missing his friend; too much time spent in close quarters with everyone, never just them, and having to watch the frown etched into Liam’s face refuse to smooth out, unable to relax and laugh and be _Liam_. He pictures them sitting in the botanical gardens at twilight, trying to finish their picnic food before it got too dark to see what they were eating, and Liam’s smile glowing in the last light of day, brighter than it had for months – _“I’ve felt so lonely.” “I’m right here, Li.” –_ Zayn can almost see the stars sparkling on the ceiling from the corner of his eye.

That instinct is silly. He’ll never lose Liam.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy, Payne.”

It’s Liam’s turn to whisper across the tiny chasm of darkness. “You make everything better.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Liam,” he repeats firmly, a promise.

For a long moment, it’s just them, watching each other, and a conversation can be had without words, but Zayn’s not sure he’s able to translate this one.

And then Liam’s grin is back.

“Fine. I’ll tell you, since you clearly can’t handle not knowing.” He doesn’t pause long enough for Zayn to ask him what the hell he’s even talking about. “The last thing I was going to share with you; the first song my parents ever recorded me singing – god I hope they burned it – was _Barbie Girl_.”

Zayn rolls onto his back, absolutely _howling_ with laughter because, shit, is Liam kidding? This is gold.

“ _Barbie Girl?!”_ he confirms, still not sure he heard correctly. “As in-”

“Aqua. Circa mid-late nineties,” Liam confirms with a grimace. “Quiet down, you arse; you’ll wake the whole house.”

It takes a minute, but eventually Zayn does manage to suppress his laughter to a few sniggers. He glances back at Liam, and wonders if he can spot the mischief in his expression.

“ _Hi-ya, Barbie._ ”

Liam rolls his eyes, but he’s a good sort, so he responds – albeit in a pitch closer to his actual register – “ _Hi, Ken._ ”

When they get to the part to actually start singing, Zayn tries, he honestly does, to reach the right note; he’ll blame it on lying down and laughing ‘til he can’t breathe, but his voice cracks almost instantly. Liam, of course, can still falsetto the shit out of it, and it may or may not send Zayn back into spasms of hysteria.

He might get beaten back into being quiet – _“I hate you.” “No, you don’t.”_ – but Liam still relaxes back into Zayn when he curls close once more, finally settling off towards sleep. And it’s Liam who gets the final, mumbled word in the end – and Zayn doesn’t even mind.

“I wanted you to know _everything_.”

***

Liam jolts into consciousness to three raps from the other side of the door. He hears Zayn startle awake with a sharp intake of breath, jostled by Liam’s movement, tightening the arm thrown across Liam’s abdomen, even as the rest of him is sprawled across the mattress on his stomach, face turned away from Liam and grumbling incoherently into the pillow.

“Boys?”

Liam’s mum’s voice carries through the door, and Liam struggles to push himself into a sitting position, calling out a, “Just a sec, Mum,” as he whacks at Zayn’s bare back, _move, you great lump, we have to look…couply_. Zayn lifts his head enough to stare at Liam with a look of sheer disdain for disrupting his sleep at the unholy hour of – Liam glances at the clock – 10:05. Fuck Zayn, they’ve been asleep for at least nine hours, he can deal.

He calls out for his Mum to come in once Zayn’s mostly upright, shuffling closer to him once he’s sure the movement won’t knock Zayn over. It’s just as Karen opens the door, walking in with a tray balanced carefully in her hands, looking suspiciously as though she’s made them the first breakfast in bed she’s made Liam in- possibly ever.

Liam sidles one last inch into Zayn’s side, into the loose embrace Zayn offers, securing him between his arms, and there’s a definite _something_ pressing into Liam’s back. When Liam becomes suddenly, _entirely_ aware of what that hard something is, his mother is already speaking to them, and Liam can’t stop the bright flush set high in his cheeks which he’s certain will be impossible to miss.

“-to interrupt anything,” Karen glances from Liam, smiling tight and forced, to Zayn, who Liam notes is also hinting a slight red tinge to his skin, although looking altogether calmer than Liam, almost appearing quite pleased with himself. “But the leftovers from breakfast were going cold and you just got a phone call, Liam, dear – your dad thought it’d be best we pass on the message sooner rather than later.”

“Hm?” Liam figures it will work best if he can keep to monosyllabic answers, especially since he swears he can feel Zayn’s erection twitch at the very top of Liam’s arse when he wriggles a little to make room for his mother to rest the tray of tea, scrambled eggs and toast next to them on the bed. He’s just- not going to think about it. “Who was it?”

“From your publicity crew - Sandra? Sarah?”

“Sonya,” Zayn supplies.

Karen snaps a finger in Zayn’s direction. “That was it! She wanted to tell you that you’re both expected at a dinner tonight; something something charity gala? I’ve got it all written out downstairs for you. That friend of Harry’s – Nick – is hosting, apparently.”

Liam groans, almost upsetting the tea all over the covers when he tries sliding down in exasperation, then jumping upright again just as quickly when Zayn’s hips jerk involuntarily – or it better have been, because the bastard is bloody _sniggering_ at him – and Liam can barely remember what it was he was busy complaining about.

“Ugh, _really_?” He looks to his mum, who nods in confirmation, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “But they _promised_ we didn’t have to make any appearances ‘til Monday week.” Liam might be pouting; he doesn’t care. He’s always hated those black tie events – they’re always too long, and everyone seems more focused on one-upping their ‘friends’ than the actual event, not to mention the general discomfort Liam always finds in formal attire.

“I’m sorry, love, but she said it was essential, and the other boys all agreed already.” She looks at him sympathetically, and Zayn swipes his thumb comfortingly across the underside of Liam’s forearm.

“But it’s your last night in London.” Which only makes it worse because, as awkward as this weekend might have been, Liam _has_ enjoyed having his family around him again. He might have to make the trip to Wolverhampton before their break ends, just so it doesn’t have to end so soon.

“Oh!” Liam looks up from where he’s frowning steadfastly at the burnt corner of a piece of toast when his mum makes the surprised noise, a tint of happiness colouring it. “I didn’t tell you that bit, did I? Sonya told me it’s fine if we all go with you – won’t that be wonderful? Your sisters are quite determined you’re going to get them something appropriate to wear, since they were promised that shopping trip.”

“Sh-oot,” Liam catches himself when he spots his mother giving him the eye, “I promised Dad yesterday I’d go golfing with him after lunch; Niall and Harry are coming too.”

Karen sighs, frowning at her son. “Liam…”

“I’ll go with them,” Zayn offers, and Liam isn’t actually sure what that offer is. “With your sisters; you too, Karen, if you’d like – surely you wouldn’t say no to a shopping spree on Li’s credit card?” He winks at her, and smacks a kiss to Liam’s temple, who can’t believe Zayn’s actually getting him out of the excursion he’s been putting off for literally a year now – waiting outside changing rooms gets old approximately ten minutes into a trip likely to last upwards of four hours.

“You sure?” Liam checks, incredulous, at the same time as his mum exclaims, delighted, “That’d be _perfect_ ; it’s about time we got you all to ourselves, Zayn.” She laughs to herself – Liam’s tempted to call it a cackle – as she backs out of the room. “We can leave in an hour; have to make sure we leave enough time to get ready once we’re back.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before she shuts the door behind her.

“I can’t believe you just agreed to that.”

“Best boyfriend ever, remember?” Zayn leans over him to swipe a slice of toast, more than half cold at this point. “I’d better get ready, then – big day ahead.”

Liam shakes his head as Zayn throws the covers off and drops his feet to the floor, toast held between his teeth as he saunters shamelessly towards the en suite, morning wood still tenting the Bugs Bunny boxers he’d slept in.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “And sort out that goddamn boner, will you?”

“It’s a natural occurrence, young Liam,” Zayn laughs, and he wriggles his eyebrows over his shoulder as he slips through the door as he adds, “But I most certainly will.”

Liam accidentally knocks his head on the wall behind him when he throws it back with a groan, looking to the heavens as he tries to figure out when exactly this became his life.

Sometime between shyly ecstatic grins shared between the four boys he’s to become best friends with and resolutely ignoring the insistent press of his own erection against the cotton of his pants, Liam thinks.

***

_It’s a marathon, not a sprint_.

That’s what Zayn tells himself when, two and a half hours into what may actually be the shopping trip from hell, there’s still no end in sight.

It’s not as though Zayn wasn’t aware this was going to be intensive – he’s grown up with enough women in his life to know that shopping is never as simple as it may sound. He’s uncomfortably aware of just how long it can take to decide between two dresses, as well as the likelihood that the final choice _will_ be the one she tried on in the very first store (upwards of eighty per-cent).

However, he’d – foolishly, as it turned out – believed that Karen’s presence would be enough to temper the teasing and insinuations which ran rife throughout Ruth and Nicola’s conversations with Zayn. On the contrary, their mother seemed to take great delight in Zayn’s discomfort, even going so far as to toss in her own contributions as to the state she’d found them in that morning.

Which. Okay. Zayn _may_ not have been in the most innocent of states, but that was far more to do with waking up after far too many days without a decent wank, than how comfortable sleeping next to Liam is, or how soft and crinkly Liam is first thing in the morning, hair sleep-mussed and face still branded where he’d slept on the wrinkled part of the sheet.

He’s managed to steer them out of _one_ shoe store (Nic having found a pair of heels she’s certain should match any of her dress options thus far), and pointed out a jewellery boutique further along the block where Ruth might find a necklace to match the dress she already found and purchased (at the first store – Zayn praises every girl able to make a decisive choice early on in the piece).

And that’s when Zayn feels two small hands slide over his eyes, a familiar giggle in his ear as he pictures feet raising on tiptoe behind him, heavy eyeliner framing huge, twinkling eyes as the culprit teases with a distinctive lilt,

“Guess who?”

It’s Nic who answers, cutting her sister off mid-sentence.

“Perrie?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....ok so i left it on another cliffhanger - forgive me?
> 
> next chap will be up sooner i /promise/ - it's already in the works.
> 
> comments = love (pretty pls)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this still took a bit longer to get up than intended (i may have had an engagement-induced writer's block for a bit there...please note i'm all for irl zerrie, if they're happy, i'm happy etc etc, but /fic/ guys, and the plot for this was written a large number of months ago. so.)
> 
> but last chapter! yay! hope you enjoy xx  
> thanks madi as per for helping as beta and head cheerleader

“Pez?”

Zayn tugs hands from his face and twists around to see what his brain has already accepted as truth, but the rest of him is still struggling to believe.

Perrie sidesteps around Zayn to stand before him, grinning cheekily up at him to meet his wide-eyed gaze.

“The one and only, babe.” And she pokes him in the side with nimble fingers, knowing it will make Zayn shrink into himself enough that she can plant a kiss on him; he manages to just barely turn his head enough that she catches Zayn’s stubbled jaw rather than full on his lips. When she pulls back, Perrie’s frowning confusedly, the corners of her mouth twisted downwards into a pout Zayn thinks she might have picked up from him.

Worse, Liam’s family are all wearing similar expressions.

All four women are staring at Zayn expectantly, waiting for an answer he has zero clue how to explain away.

“Uh, I- You guys should go on and check out that store,” Zayn says to Karen, Ruth and Nicola. “I’ll catch up in a minute; I just need to talk to Perrie for a sec.”

While they still look somewhere between bemused and doubtful, the three of them still nod their acquiescence slowly and turn hesitantly to walk the last few metres to the boutique’s entrance, with a final furrowed look from Ruth thrown in their direction as they step inside.

Perrie had turned to watch the others as they left, but once they’re out of sight, Zayn looks down to find himself the sole object of her focus. And she doesn’t look impressed.

“What was that, Zayn?”

He’s ninety percent sure playing dumb isn’t going to work but, “Nothing.”

“I call bullshit, Malik.” And Zayn has always considered Perrie’s tenacity (a stubbornness to rival Louis’) to be one of the things which he finds most attractive in her, but other times she’s straight up terrifying. “I haven’t seen you in over a week, and now you’re acting all weird.”

Zayn ducks his head, inspecting a thread dangling off his denim jacket that might or might not be attached.

“I’m sorry; been busy with recording this week,” he apologises, “Been staying with Liam, so haven’t had much time to myself.”

“That’d explain the Payne clan acting as your entourage.”

“Yeah, Li’s been kinda stressed since we got back – Danielle, y’know? – and I promised I’d help him out for a bit. Especially while his family’s visiting this weekend.”

Perrie tilts her head, considering, as she looks up at Zayn. “Helping?”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, the sound just a little off, his throat dry. “Liam fucked up royally, told his parents he’s seeing someone new to get them off his back and, well,” Zayn throws his arms out and looks down at himself with a half-smirk.

To Perrie’s credit, she only shakes her head, sneaking an arm around Zayn’s waist as she studies him in silence a moment longer.

“You’d really do anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

Zayn gathers her up, tucks her under his chin and squeezes her tight as he looks down the street where Liam’s family had disappeared. “I- it’s only for the weekend. After that it’ll all be back to normal.”

There’s still something in Perrie’s eyes when she stretches up to peck him on the cheek, but all she says is, “’Kay, Zayn.”

“I’ll see you later on, yeah?”

He presses what he hopes is a reassuring kiss to Perrie’s forehead, before releasing her, quick goodbyes exchanged when she nods in agreement.

Zayn had thought he’d snuck back into the jewellery store with quite admirable stealth, but Nic is on him almost instantly with a barely hushed, “What the fuck was that all about, then?”

“What do you mean?” Maybe acting dumb will work better the second time.

“Don’t play stupid, Zayn.” Then again, maybe it won’t. “Perrie. What the hell was up with that?”

“We’re just-”

“If you say ‘just friends’, I will break you, Zayn Malik; you’re not that big, I could do it.” Nicola looks pissed enough that Zayn just about believes her too. “You’re supposed to be dating my _brother_. So, please do explain why the person - that really fucking better be your ex - was hanging all over you just now.”

Zayn is uncomfortably aware that both Ruth and Karen are listening in to the conversation whilst ostensibly looking over a selection of pendants. Even more so that the store attendant is equally privy to said discussion.

He lowers his voice so that Nic has to lean in to catch his words, wishing there was a way to go about this without point blank lying – even if part of his brain tells him it shouldn’t be any different to the lies he’s been feeding them for the past two days.

“But we _are_ friends,” he insists; and at least that much is the truth, if not the rest. “It’s just that, what with Li and Dani’s split, both our and Perrie’s managements didn’t want another break-up to be plastered over the papers so soon after the first. And we do honestly still get on; everything’s just played up a bit for the paps so we don’t get called out on anything for a bit.”

Nic’s face is still sceptical, but it’s lost some of the pinched anger it had only a moment ago.

“I really do care for Liam, Nicola,” Zayn promises, shaking his head softly at himself as he admits, “It’s a bit scary just how much I’d do for him, sometimes.”

This time, there’s the ghost of a smile on Nic’s face. “Sometimes I think a blind man could see how much you care for my brother, you fond git.” And it makes something twist in Zayn’s gut, sharp and unexpected, when she adds, “Just don’t want it hurting either of you.”

“It won’t. It’s not forever. And ‘s’not like we’d be shouting this from the rooftops just yet anyway, y’know?”

Nicola grins and pokes him under his ribs before joining her mother and sister on the other side of the small store. “Good.”

_It won’t hurt us. I won’t let it._

And as Zayn reaffirms that knowledge to himself, he wonders when exactly this had become something which had the power to hurt them.

And when exactly the truth and the lies all began sounding the same.

***

“You do realise we’re aiming for that stick with the flag down there, right?” Niall points out to Liam after starting his third hole in a row with a shot directly into the rough. “And not the trees?”

“Come off it,” Liam tugs Niall into a headlock and musses his hair when the prick manages to drive his ball straight down the fairway, significantly further and better aimed than Liam’s attempt. “Not all of us can be fledgling pros.”

Niall manages to twist his way out of Liam’s grip with a laugh, and Liam chuckles too at the sight of notoriously slack-arsed Niall tucking his polo shirt back into his _belted_ trousers. They both quieten down as they fall into step a few metres behind Liam’s father and Harry, headed in the direction of Liam’s misfired ball, but the grin doesn’t slip from Liam’s face.

He feels the gentle knock of Niall’s shoulder bumping against his, but doesn’t think anything of it as they continue wandering in silence without any great rush for another long moment.

“You’re happy, mate.”

Liam turns his head, squinting against the sun as he looks at Niall, who’s smiling back at him, fond.

“Why do you sound so shocked?”

There’s another nudge to his shoulder; Niall’s way of saying he doesn’t mean anything offensive by whatever he says next.

“Maybe because you haven’t been?” Liam catches Niall shrugging in his peripheral vision as he focuses on watching the way Harry’s slow, assured walk matches the lazy flow of words he’s directing to Geoff, conversation not quite loud enough to carry back to Liam’s ears. “Not for a long time.”

“I’ve been doing okay.” His protest falls flat even to his own ears.

“Sure, sure,” Niall allows with an easy nod, and Liam appreciates that Niall doesn’t feel the need to go over the same ground that everyone else has trawled over again and again in the past months. “But you’ve doing a hella lot better since this – thing – with Zayn started.”

Liam wonders whether his father is still following whatever story Harry is telling him; it’s been years now since everyone bar Louis gave up the pretence of being able to focus on Harry’s slow and circular rambles long enough to hear the end of it in any sort of context.

“We’re just mates, Ni; same as ever.” He can feel his brow furrowing a little when he looks to Niall, although he’s yet to stop smiling because, really, this is a silly conversation. “And it’s not even been a full two days yet.”

This time it’s Niall who looks vaguely perplexed, even if he tries to hide it with a shake of his head. “Been longer than that,” he mutters, then, meeting Liam’s gaze with earnest eyes, “Just be careful, yeah?”

“It’ll be fine,” Liam reassures, gripping his golf clubs more firmly in his hand, “May be a bit awkward when we have to-”

Niall stops him with a hand on his shoulder, serious for once.

“I don’t mean about the lies, Liam, not those ones anyway.” Liam has to look away from Niall’s piercing stare; he always forgets how perceptive he can be underneath his gives-no-fucks exterior. “It fucking sucks seeing you unhappy, Li, but I hope you know what you’re doing. What about Perrie?” Liam thinks of the text he’d received four holes ago – _saw perrie in twn. told your fam we broke up but not public yt x_ – and the way it weighed heavy in his pocket, but Niall’s still talking.

“Or how shitty it is when Harry and Lou go half a week without more than a _hey_ or a passive aggressive _you clearly had a good time last night_? I love you, man, and I just want everyone to be happy, but-”

Maybe the wind changes direction slightly, because Harry’s voice floats clear over the grass, “-and he says ‘Are we here to play golf, or are you just going to fuck around?’” and then Harry’s clutching at his sides and laughing that loud bark of delight that Liam’s missed seeing, which turns his own lips up, doubly so when he catches a profile of his dad’s bewildered expression.

“It’s nothing,” Liam cuts across Niall, trying to sound firm. “We’ll be fine.”

***

“Crap. Li?”

Zayn calls out to where Liam is tidying the scruff of facial hair he’s been maintaining the past few months; it makes him look older, Zayn thinks, at least until he starts laughing over one of Louis’ shitty jokes and he turns back into a perpetual twelve year old.

“Yeah, Zayn?”

He rummages about one final time in Liam’s top drawer, among the small but pricey collection of watches, random ticket stubs, a box of band-aids and a tube of Deep Heat to no avail.

“Do you have a spare set of cufflinks?” The suits that had been dropped off as appropriate attire for tonight’s dinner were as well-fitting (aka intended to be cut so tight that they’re forced to walk weird or sacrifice their balls) and colour matching as always, but the shirts also required links to do them up rather than having buttons sewn in.

Liam wanders back into the bedroom, doing up his shirt buttons, bottom to top. “Uhh, don’t think so. You could ask Mum?”

“Why on earth would your _Mum_ have a set of cufflinks for me to use?”

“Well _she_ wouldn’t,” Liam explains with an exasperated sigh, “But Dad probably does at home, and Mum gets weird with how prepared she is for absolutely any possible outcome when she packs, so she might’ve snuck a pair in.”

Which is how Zayn ends up in the guest room Liam’s parents are staying in while Karen rummages around in the pockets of their suitcase, and Geoff wanders in and out of their bathroom sans trousers and his tie hanging loose around his neck as he queries whether he needed to iron his suit or if the creases were minimal enough to ignore.

“You’re lucky, love, none of Geoff’s suits need them anymore, but I’ve gotten into such a habit of carrying a set, even if I’m not sure why - _yes_ , dear, they need ironed; go ask Liam which cupboard he keeps it in- ah, here they are.”

Karen turns to face Zayn, proudly presenting him with two small gold cufflinks in her palm, before closing her hand on them and reaching for Zayn’s right wrist, closest to her.

“I- I can do it myself, if you’d like. Let you get ready.” Zayn attempts to extricate himself from Karen’s deft grip.

“Nonsense, dear. I’ll get it done in half the time it’d take you to do single-handed. And please,” Karen looks up at Zayn, rolling her eyes, “I’ve been ready fifteen minutes already – whoever started the rumour that women take forever getting ready clearly never met a man. Both the girls have been downstairs catching the first bit of the news before we have to leave they were done so early.”

Zayn kind of wants to tell Karen that in his family, he and his father have to tell the girls that any reservations and parties start a good half hour before the actual time in order for them to arrive somewhere in the realm of fashionably late rather than _oh, maybe we should just order dessert, then_ , but gets the feeling she wouldn’t actually believe him.

“Now, don’t you worry about giving these back in any rush,” Karen continues as she slides the second link into place, “You might as well keep a hold of these.”

Zayn’s eyes widen, and he immediately begins to argue. “No, I really couldn’t; they’re Geoff’s, and I have my own back at mine.” He had already inspected the first of the links once it had been secured into place; while relatively unadorned and simple in their square design, they were good quality gold, and as such, not inexpensive.

“Zayn Malik, I said you can have these and I mean it. Geoff doesn’t need them anymore, and if he did, he has a lovely set at home that Liam bought him last Father’s Day.” Karen tugs Zayn’s cuffs straight and steps back to give Zayn a look up and down, nodding to herself in approval. “You’re basically part of the family as it is, and it’s not as though you’re going to need to pawn them off any time soon. And since you and our Liam are dating now, maybe it would be useful to at least leave them here in case you have any more unexpected events like tonight in future, if you refuse to take them home with you.”

“I-”

“That be an acceptance coming out of your mouth, young man.”

Zayn sighs, and ducks his head in agreement. At least if he left them here at Liam’s he didn’t have to properly take them; it felt weird, wrong, to take these from the Payne’s – even if they were superfluous – when it was under the pretence of being Liam’s boyfriend, regardless of the fact that Zayn’s sure Karen would have done the same thing a year ago.

Still. It makes something warm in his chest when Karen calls Zayn _family_.

“Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, let’s go find that boy of yours and see if he’s scrubbed up as nicely as you.”

***

When they step out to meet the paparazzi and reporters outside, Liam, the boys and his family have already polished off two bottles of champagne in the limo sent for them, so it’s an easy smile Liam presents to the cameras.

It’s not a huge event – for reasons Liam refuses to understand, charity events for sick children, poverty-stricken families and victims of abuse never garner as much attention as the latest movie premiere – but having been sent there, it means they’re all expected to produce some good publicity by stopping for a couple short interviews on their way inside.

They’re mostly reflex answers – _yeah, it’s great being home again; just been catching up with family, as you can see; yes, we’ve been in the studio a bit, you’ll just have to wait to see what  we’ve come up with_ – that don’t require much thought. He keeps an eye on his family, stood just a bit back from the front line of press and flashing lights. While they aren’t exactly regulars at events like this, they’ve run the gauntlet enough times at this stage that they know that it’s often easier to wait for the lads to finish and avoid getting caught up in awkward questions themselves.

And Liam also keeps himself close to Zayn’s side. Even if he’s not entirely sure of his motivation for the action.

There’s the obvious, in that Liam knows he should still be presenting an image to his parents and sisters that he and Zayn are together, regardless of what the general population are aware of. It’s not as though standing shoulder to shoulder, or even with Zayn’s hand light on Liam’s back, is a particularly novel occurrence. And even if some people read more into it – the internet hoards all types of their fans – it’s nothing _new_ , and definitely nothing that could lead to consequences behind the deceptively un-private glass doors of SyCo come tomorrow morning.

And there’s the fact that Liam has come to rely on Zayn’s presence, so solid next to him. Every time he’s ever needed him, Zayn’s been there. Not only this past week, but _every time_. So it’s only natural that Liam leans into the press on his back, seeking out the unconditional comfort he knows he will find there, when they’re asked the age-old ‘ _Which of you currently have girlfriends?_ ’

And maybe it shouldn’t be all that unexpected when he takes some added comfort when it takes Zayn a moment to respond, as if awoken from some reverie, that ‘ _Yeah, Perrie should be around here somewhere tonight, too, actually._ ’

Because, well, _maybe_ Liam’s thought more about what Niall had implied this afternoon. And maybe Liam’s reached a point where he can acknowledge that some of how much he cares for Zayn _might_ be over and above a regular friendship – even by their band’s extenuated standards.

He just hasn’t quite figured out where that puts them. Or how he’s supposed to deal with that.

Because Zayn smiles at him as he nudges him towards the entrance, away from the noise, and the last of the camera flashes highlight the sharp angles of his features that Liam has always objectively known to be one of the reasons girls faint at his grin. They’re _not_ something Liam’s always recognised as a trigger to make his palms sweat and his tongue dart out instinctively to wet his chapped lips.

This. Feeling like this was never part of the plan.

***

Zayn’s not going to lie.

He’s not sure it should feel so instinctual. Walking the carpet _with_ Liam, plus the boys, rather than with his lads, no special distinctions made. If it should feel so subtly different, even though it’s all for show, and only for the select few people Zayn can feel watching with soft happiness a few short metres away.

And if Liam looks at him as they pass through the doors, and his frustratingly familiar features exude affection and something Zayn would consider akin to lust on anyone else - anyone who isn’t his _best friend_ – and Zayn can’t resist pulling him in close by the shoulders so that Zayn can plant a kiss to the top of his head as his hand holding Liam there wraps around to stroke at his jaw.

Well.

Surely it’s not the first time.

Zayn’s not sure if that’s a comfort or not.

They’re directed towards their table, awkwardly close to the middle and requiring a dance of _excuse me_ ’s and squeezing between chairs too close together. It’s as they circle the table to find the crisp white cards with their names imprinted, out of courtesy more than anything else – they’d trade if they didn’t agree with the ordering – when Zayn can’t find his own, and on a quick head count, realises that there’s only eight places set for the nine of them.

As if on cue, a voice calls, low and polite, “Mr Malik,” and Zayn raises his head to spot a man weaving his way through the tables, still largely empty in this part of the room, trailed by some more guests.

“Has there been a mistake with the seating?” Zayn asks, more politely than the blunt _where’s my seat_ on the tip of his tongue.

“I am sorry, we forgot to mention as you came in. As we had to make some last minute adjustments due to your extra guests,” The man smiles a forced apology towards the Payne’s and Zayn has to contain a snort because clearly they were no friend of this staff member. “We didn’t have any tables large enough to accommodate you all, so we’ve had to switch you to the next table over.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Karen pipes up, with a smile that Zayn thinks is either oblivious or impervious to the man’s glare towards her, “I’m sure we can squeeze in; we’re all friends here.”

“I assure you, we wouldn’t expect that of you, ma’am,” The man’s tone is still admirably even. “Besides, we thought Mr Malik would be happy to sit with Miss Edwards.”

It’s only then that Zayn realises the group of women who had been following the man a moment ago, and had taken a seat in the table behind him, was indeed Little Mix, with Perrie closest to them, watching the conversation which should have been a simple explanation, yet feels strangely like an argument.

Liam shifts next to him, and Zayn had forgotten he was still so close, arm still on his. Zayn takes a step away and he can’t explain why it feels like something is now missing.

“Where do you want to sit, Zayn?” Liam says quietly. “It’s fine if you want to sit with the girls, but we can make room here if you’d like.”

“Zayn, love?” Perrie’s voice is nearly as soft as Liam’s, and when Zayn looks to her she’s smiling, but he can catch the confusion in her eyes.

And, in theory, Zayn knows this shouldn’t be a decision; that of course he should go sit with Perrie because that’s where he’s supposed to go, the seat is there and it’d only cause unnecessary fuss if he asked to sit with Liam. Liam _and_ the boys.

Also, Perrie is his girlfriend.

That too.

But Liam’s family are watching, his sisters both wearing carefully neutral expressions, but their lips are pressed together into thin lines. Liam’s words tell him it doesn’t matter, but his face looks almost hurt and Zayn can’t process that. This weekend was supposed to be an act, and Zayn promised to help, and that has to be the only reason why he’s considering anything other than taking the seat with the girls.

He looks from one to the other, Liam to Perrie and back; catches the boys’ looks in between, varying shades of sympathy colouring their faces.

It must take him longer than it should to decide – the man, still apparently waiting to hear that his hard work wasn’t for nothing, seems to give up and walks off with a huff of _do whatever you want, see if I care; bloody pop stars, think they run the show._

The sight of him walking off seems to startle the rest of them out of the moment, and Zayn is about to finally move, unsure if his decision is the right one-

Liam speaks before Zayn can remember how to work his feet.

“Go sit with Perrie, Zayn.” His face is strained, and Zayn wants to wipe the tension away. “Sit with your girlfriend.”

Perrie’s next to him, small fingers intertwined with his own, tugging him over, even as Karen is saying, “But Liam-”

“No, Mum,” Liam holds an arm towards his family, a tired _please_. “Zayn should never have had to make that choice. He should always have been there with Perrie.”

“What are you talking about?” Ruth asks the question, and in Zayn’s mind he thinks surely it must all be falling into place by now, but he still tries to stop it. For Liam’s sake, he tells himself.

“Li, you don’t-”

Liam turns to look at him, and Zayn wishes he couldn’t see the sadness etching back into Liam’s eyes after he’d been sure it was vanquished. “I do. It’s not fair, and I should never have asked it of you in the first place.”

And part of Zayn wants to tell him that’s bullshit because Zayn _wanted_ to, and isn’t sure he wants to go back anymore, as fucking scary as that is, because the rest of Zayn is startlingly conscious of the hand in his and who he was only a week, a few days ago, last night before Liam told him all the things Zayn had never asked, but Liam wanted to share with him anyway; even if he’s no longer sure that’s the same as who he is.

But Liam’s eyes are back on his family, and while this conversation hasn’t gone on for nearly as long as it feels, and the tables near them are still empty for the most part, Zayn is glad that they’ve all long since learnt how to lower their voices to make sure private conversation remain just that.

“None of it is real; I’m sorry. I lied to you about Zayn and me,” Liam’s words are heavy with guilt, “We aren’t, never have been, together, and he only agreed because I forced him into it when I told Mum that stupid lie about having moved on from Dani.”

Karen takes a step forward, trying to comfort her son with a hand on his shoulder. “But, Li, sweetie-”

“I’d been feeling like shit ever since we got back home, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, and somehow I thought it was a good idea to tell you I was seeing someone new so that you wouldn’t worry about me.” He snorts self-derisively. “But clearly that hasn’t worked and I just- I _can’t_ , okay?”

Liam shrugs off his mother’s touch and starts working his way between the tables, towards the back exit of the building, scrubbing a hand through his hair and not looking back once.

Zayn sees rather than hears Geoff telling Karen to _leave him be for a bit_ , and Louis pipe up that it’d draw less attention if they just continue on, that Liam will be fine, even as Niall disappears after him, only to come back a minute later with a frown on his face that takes another five to slip back into his usual grin.

Zayn falls somewhat into his place next to his girlfriend, finally takes his seat.

And Zayn spends the evening unable to pay attention to anything except the film of Liam leaving on replay in his head. And the fact that after all the fuss, the table next to him now has a spare seat.

***

Liam shuts his bedroom door behind him when he gets home. Collapses onto his bed and tries to remain oblivious to all the signs of Zayn lying around the room and why they suddenly feel like they mean something they shouldn't.

Ignores how empty his room looks once they've all been picked up and shoved back into Zayn's duffel to pass to an apologetic Louis later that night (if he doesn’t give back that one t-shirt, well, Liam knows for a fact that it was stolen off him over a year ago, so it’s only returning rightful property); Louis who eyes him with a hesitant expression that Liam doesn't like – the way its marring Louis' features or how its directed at him. He ignores how empty the room looks once Louis leaves, and how it looks an awful lot like when he first arrived home, bereft of the imprint of another person.

Liam sleeps, and when he wakes it's to his sisters sitting cross-legged on his bed in their pyjamas, like they're all still in school and the girls had heard a rumour through the grapevine that their Li had developed a crush on some girl or another. He tries not to draw parallels.

The bedside lamp has been turned on, and Liam can tell from the way it’s glow wraps around them like a cocoon that it's still dark outside. He turns to his bedside table and watches the clock blink over to 7:38am; of course Nic and Ruth have decided to sneak in before their parents wake up, before the performance of packing for the trip home begins and their Mum tries to weasel an explanation out of Liam - a proper one this time.

"I'm sorry." Liam can feel his face crumpling already - he really does hate it when people are upset with him, and it's far too early for this.

"You shouldn't've fibbed, Li," Ruth tells him gently, wrapping a comforting hand around his ankle through the blankets.

"But we don't actually care about that bit," Nic adds, and Liam always forgot how weird it was when his sisters ganged up on him as two halves of the same side of a conversation. A conversation where the other side only ever consisted of Liam putting up a weak fight before agreeing with a sigh.

"I think I thought that if _you_ thought I'd moved on from Danielle, you wouldn't be so worried about me," he admits, still huddled under his duvet, unwilling to retreat from the safety it provides him.

This time, his sisters actually lose a beat of synchronicity, Nic muttering a, "And how's that working out for you?" at the same time as Ruth informs him quite matter-of-factly, "Well you looked pretty convincing, for what it's worth."

Liam eyes them both. "I get it was a dumb idea," he allows, although that's about _all_ he gets right now, unsure as to where they're going with this discussion. "And I should've never made Zayn do what I did. Wasn't fair."

The two girls exchange a glance.

"Speaking of Zayn-" Nicola starts.

"-He was looking pretty miserable last night," Ruth finishes.

Liam just wants to pull the covers over his head and hide for the foreseeable future. So he does. He groans loudly and knows his sisters will be able to hear his voice even if it's muffled by layers of flannelette and cotton. "Excellent. So I ruined _everyone's_ night, then."

There's a dull whack to his shoulder, and he's about to complain but Nic gets in first.

"Don't be so up yourself, little bro. Just because you stormed off like you're living in a soap off the telly, doesn't mean we didn't have a thoroughly mint time; got a selfie with James McAvoy, I did."

Liam tugs the blankets down enough to look sceptically at his sister, who shoves her phone in his face to provide the photographic evidence. "You never."

"'S right there, innit? The things you miss when you're being a drama queen rather than toughing it out and telling your Zayn how you really feel."

"I- what? I don't-"

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, Liam," Ruth reassures him with a roll of her eyes, although she's still moved close enough that she can reach out and pat back his hair in the same way she would when Liam had been home crook all day and Ruth would check in on him on her lunch break while their parents were still at work.

"He's with Perrie, Ruthie," he mumbles, quieter than he'd intended and falling into his old nickname for his sister.

"I know, Li," she cups his face with one hand and sometimes Liam really does wish Ruth and Nicola lived closer, that he wasn't constantly on the move.

"We're not advocating home-wrecking here," Nicola assures, poking Liam's free cheek. "Just. You seemed happy this weekend. Happier than you've been in a long time," she adds, "Not just since you and Dani split either, you know?"

Liam really doesn't know what's expected of him here; everything is tangled and wrong, in his brain, his chest, his stomach. He feels a little ill.

"He honestly did look right out of it last night - Zayn I mean," Ruth tells him, giving Liam a peck on the forehead and making a move as though the conversation might finally be over. "Don't let this - whatever it is, or was - ruin you, yeah? You need each other."

"He's my best mate."

"We know," Nic ruffles his hair and crawls to the edge of the bed to get off too, standing next to Ruth. "And don't worry, we'll tell Mum to lay off; just sort yourself out before you come home for Christmas, yeah? You just know she'll coddle us all to tears 'til the New Year if you don't." She winks at him, and Liam knows she doesn't mean it in a bad way; she waits until he's shaking his head at her before she breaks her poker face to match his grin. "Love you, baby bro."

He affects a put-upon sigh.

"We'll do a fry-up for brunch before we leave, and you're going to come down and you're going to _smile_ ," Ruth bares her teeth at him in what is possible more of a grimace than a smile, but it makes Liam laugh so hey, what the hell.

"Love you guys, too."

***

It’s Wednesday, and three days since Zayn saw Liam, when Perrie breaks up with him.

“I don’t understand,” is all he can say when she tells him I think it’s time we called it a day, babe, and Zayn’s mind is a mess of no, please no, not now, not when it feels a little like you’re all I have left.

“Oh, darling,” Perrie perches herself on the sofa next to him, knees brushing against his own as she angles towards him, brushing a lank strand of hair out of his face. He maybe hasn't showered in a day or two; it's not like it matters, he tells himself - they have a week off and he doesn't have to be anywhere, so the same ratty sweats and a hoodie that isn't is (but doesn't necessarily belong to Liam, it _might_ be Harry's) is perfectly appropriate. "You know we were only here for a good time, not a long time."

Zayn looks down to meet her eyes, can't quite figure out how Perrie is still managing to smile when they've been together for closer to two years than one and, "But I love you."

"I love you, too, dummy. But I'm not _in_ love with you." She clutches both her hands onto one of Zayn's, and it's so familiar. He aches with it. "And you aren't in love with me either. That was never what we were meant to be for each other. You know that. We were mates who had a bit of fun when we both managed to be in the same city, same country for more than a day at a time; and what fun we've had, eh?" She winks at him, wriggling her eyebrows with skill that Louis would be jealous of. "We kept each other grounded when everything else was so fucking crazy we felt like we might explode. A reason to not let ourselves get carried away with just how _much_ is out there on a platter, just waiting for us to let go. It's what we've both needed, wanted. But, babe, we were only ever an 'until something better comes along' arrangement."

"You know that sounds terrible right?"

Perrie pinches the skin on Zayn's wrist. "Shh, don't be a twat; most of that speech was stellar."

"Hm, wasn't bad, I guess. So what? Who's the lucky guy?" He prods at her thigh; Zayn figures he might as well accept that this is actually happening - Perrie never changes her mind when she's made a decision, and he cares too much for her friendship to beg and wreck it all. Especially when everything she's said to him is nothing but the truth; it's always been a comfort to have someone he can talk to about anything, to commiserate about how mental things get, to understand and to be there when he gets home, a warm body who loves him, who he can count on, and who he trusts not to run to the press with all his dirty secrets at the end of the day. But Zayn's never been under the delusion that he was the man Perrie would settle down with, or that she was his forever and always.

He _didn't_ expect the sharp smack around the back of his head.

"What the fuck was that for?"

"I swear to god, I love you to death as a mate, Malik, but the density of your skull is not always one of your most endearing qualities."

"But you said-"

"You've found your something better, love."

_Oh_.

Perrie leaves not much longer after that - once it's been made fairly clear that Zayn's brain isn't going to restart anytime soon - with a roll of her eyes and a _text me soon, you great arse, you can buy me a coffee_. She did stop before she reached the door, though, turning back to where Zayn had just managed to stand, with the intention of following her to the door in some semblance of being a good host. She'd stretched up to press a kiss to his cheek, rubbing the smear of lipstick away before she forced him to look her in the eyes, and see the sincerity there when she tells him,

_I'm happy for you. He's worth it._

_You're worth it._

It's another three days before he talks to anyone else, choosing instead to stumble around home; starting paintings he aborts half way through and getting drunk alone in front of his DVD box-set of _Freaks and Geeks_.

When Harry turns up on his doorstep after dinner on Saturday night, face like thunder and unlike anything Zayn could've been expecting, well. At least he's showered this time.

"What the fuck did you say to Louis?"

They're in the kitchen and Zayn had just flicked the kettle on.

"So that's a 'no' to tea, then?"

Zayn leaves the milk in the fridge door and closes it slowly, instead grabbing two tumblers and his not-quite-his-best-bottle of rum and nodding at a still-fuming Harry to follow him through to the lounge.

Harry stays silent while Zayn pours them both a healthy measure of spirits, but doesn't wait to take a sip before he repeats himself.

"What did you say to him, Zayn?"

He knows it's not worth playing the fool this time; they both know what Harry's referring to.

"I told him to give you a fucking break for once, okay, Haz?"

"Nope. No nicknames. I'm mad at you right now, you're not allowed."

Zayn runs his hands through his hair, not sure what to say; Harry seems legitimately pissed right now, and he can't figure out why.

"I was only trying to help, Harry. Louis doesn't-"

He'd kept his voice low, not wanting to fight, but Harry seems to be unconcerned by that prospect, and Zayn is glad Harry hadn’t yet accepted the drink placed before him, with the way he flings his arms wide now.

"You think I don't _know_ how Louis acts? How he thinks?"

Zayn smiles at him sadly. "I think you know better than anyone. I think you know the real problem is the part where he _doesn't_ think. Not when it comes to you."

"Exactly," Harry says, like he's proven something. Zayn wonders how much Harry's had to drink before he wound up at Zayn's front door. "I know fucking _vividly_ just how oblivious Louis is to my feelings."

"Why are you mad at me, Harry?" He recognises, distantly, how exhausted he sounds.

"Because now he _knows_! Because you told him just how much it fucking _hurts_ to be around him and see him happy with someone who isn't me and now he's startlingly aware of something I've kept hidden for months and he's _not talking to me, Zayn_."

The fight seems to leave Harry half way through his speech, leaves him sunken into Zayn's sofa, red in the face and hair still wild from the frigid wind blowing a gale outside. He looks small.

"What happened?"

"Went 'round his," Harry mumbles, "Niall was supposed to be coming too, but he sent me a txt just before I left saying he's still nursing a hangover from last night."

"And he sent you home?"

"He didn't even _try_ to give me an excuse. Said it 'wasn't a good idea'. That he'd talked to you last weekend and he's 'so sorry'."

"Don't you think-"

Harry's voice rises again for a moment, but it doesn't even sustain for the entire sentence. "Don't _you_ think I could've told him no if it was too much for me? Just because I'm still in fucking love with his sorry arse doesn't make me entirely pathetic, you know. I thought you knew me better than that, Zayn."

"I'm sorry." And Zayn is. Truly. "I just wanted to give you a break. You've seemed so unhappy."

"Maybe. But I'm more unhappy not having him at all." Harry touches his glass for the first time since Zayn poured it, swallowing it back before setting it down, half empty, next to Zayn's long since finished tumbler. "It's my choice, not yours. My choice how to deal with the fact that _he_ was given a choice and he picked someone who wasn't me."

Zayn really wants to hug him. He steps around the coffee table and sits close to Harry, pulling him into an embrace and rubbing his hand up and down Harry's arm, trying to convey his apology without breaking the fragile truce Harry seems to have offered in allowing Zayn's touch.

He still whispers it into Harry's hair. _Sorry_.

In return, Harry lets himself hide his words in Zayn's shoulder. "He's my goddamned best mate and I _miss_ him."

Zayn thinks of his conversation with Louis a week ago. Of _I just miss him_ and how maybe his friends are both still a little bit broken, but maybe Zayn has no right to try and fix it for them. Maybe they're working it out the only way they know how. Maybe that's enough.

And Zayn thinks about how Harry's words seem to ring true in his own heart, how he hasn't heard from his own best friend in almost a week.

It's been a long standing joke, ever since the five of them watched every single teen movie they could remember seeing when they were in high school - before the fame, before the band, when they were just the regular boys the world didn't yet know - on a tour bus somewhere in Middle America, that Harry's hair was full of secrets; that's why it's so big. Zayn decides that maybe one more could tuck in amongst the curls, barely a whisper.

"I think I've fallen for Liam."

Harry doesn't move, not a twitch, even though Zayn's blinking wide as he realises with new eyes what he's just said aloud.

"I don't know when it happened. Harry. I don't know what to do."

Harry's arms tighten around him, he lifts his head. And when he smiles, Zayn kind of gets why half the world has fallen in love with Harry.

"You do whatever you have to."

***

It's Monday.

Their short reprieve is over, it's eight a.m. and Liam is in a dressing room back stage of Alan Carr's Chatty Man show; one which is near identical to every other they're sent to, if only a bit larger than the ones they'd started out in, crammed shoulder to shoulder as they waited to go on set.

He gets there roughly on time, maybe a minute or two late, and Harry, Niall and Louis are already there, in various stages of getting ready. They nod their good mornings and Liam tries not to be acutely aware that Zayn still hasn't arrived.

He'd like to think he isn't quite so obvious as he shrugs off his jacket and heads towards the rack with his clothes all set out for him to change into, but Harry nudges him in the ribs as he steps past him, halfway through doing up his shirt.

"Don't worry. He'll be here."

It's not as if Liam's _worried_. The amount of shit Zayn would be in if he didn't turn up is far worse than any possible awkwardness leftover from the other week. Or the way Liam's fallen right back into avoiding nearly everyone since his family headed home.

"Liam."

He's just tugged his t-shirt off, because of course he has, and Zayn's just inside the doorway, closing the door behind him without dropping eye contact with him. And the boys all fall silent, watching, while Louis not so subtly moves to lean against the door leading to the adjacent hair and make-up room.

"Zayn-" Liam takes note of the way Zayn's shoulders are heaving ever so slightly, the light sheen of his skin under the fluorescent lights. "Did you _run_ here?"

"I...maybe spent the last ten minutes pacing in the parking lot trying to figure out what to say before I realised that if I didn't turn up now I wouldn't have time before we had to go out there."

"So you ran."

"Possibly."

The distance from the parking lot to here is about fifty metres, plus a couple flights of stairs if Zayn didn't take the elevator.

"You really need to cut back down on the ciggies, Zayn."

" _Liam_."

"Did you figure out what to say?"

Zayn has stepped further into the room, and Liam's feet must have moved of their own accord, because Zayn's close enough to touch.

"You're my best mate, Li." Zayn smiles, and its reflex now for Liam to mirror it. "For three years, and counting. I was happy with that. With what we had. For three years. I was happy with that ten days ago. But then something changed."

"Zayn, I'm-" Liam feels the distinct need to apologise, but Zayn won't let him.

"-No, Liam. Please don't say sorry." The _please_ stares straight out at Liam, soft in Zayn's eyes. Liam quiets. "Because I've been going over and over it and I can't figure out anymore when all this started. Because something changed. It changed when you kissed me in front of your family. And when you left the dinner and I couldn't follow and make it better, make _you_ better. And it changed when my girlfriend sat me down and told me it was time she let me go so I could go chase down my best mate."

Liam had dropped his eyes, focusing on the frayed drawstring of Zayn's hoodie, rather than working out all the things Zayn was trying to tell him with his eyes, beneath the words that gave Liam far too much hope to be real. But here he looks up because he didn't- no one had told him Perrie had broken up with Zayn.

"But even though I _know_ all those things changed how I saw you, and me, and _us_. Even now, I can't figure it out."

"Figure out what?" Liam asks; a whisper barely more than a breath.

Zayn's eyes crinkle at the corners and it's like the sun has finally come out. "How long it's been I've been falling in love with you."

And every fibre of Liam's being wants to stretch those few inches into Zayn's space, to kiss him properly, to let him know that he's not the only one. What he does is,

"You shouldn't."

"Li?"

"You shouldn't fall in love with me."

Zayn's brow is furrowed with confusion and hurt and Liam thinks he might be in as least as much pain because this is the first thing that's felt right in such a long time. But.

"I can't lose you as a mate. I can't. Because you're always there for me and I'm not sure what I'd do if I didn't know that, if that knowledge was taken away from me. And because you were here when my house was too big and too empty and too filled with the absence of Dani. And now my house is too big and too empty and filled with the absence of _you_." Zayn has to understand. Liam _needs_ him to understand. "You're my best mate and I need my best mate. So it would be better, easier, if we. Didn't. If we just forget everything and go back to how we were."

Liam's begging. Any more and he'd be on his knees. And Zayn only moves closer.

"You're right," he admits softly, "That would be easier."

And Liam's nodding even as his stomach's sinking and Zayn's staring straight at him and maybe home can be something you carry with you. If he's standing always by your side.

And then Liam's shaking his head and wondering when he started tearing up because his visions going blurry.

But he doesn't have time to think about it for long.

When Zayn's lips hit his, Liam is vaguely aware of the boys cheering in the background - reminded that they were indeed present for all of that, and unlikely to let them live it down if Louis' proud declaration of _and who made them fucking kiss?_ is anything to go by (although Harry pipes up with a _shut the hell up, Lou, let them enjoy it_ , and Niall simply laughs even louder and crows _I bloody_ knew _it_ ).

He's dimly conscious of all that going on around him. And that they're going to be interrupted any moment by people bustling them along; new places to be, new people to see, more to add to the blurred list of accomplishments Liam knows their life has become.

But it's the person that's right before Liam, hands on his cheeks, mouth on his, everything Liam can't believe he'd been so blind to for so long and now _his_. That's all he cares about just for this minute.

And here, in Zayn's arms, Liam thinks that maybe this is where he belongs.

It's definitely where he longs to be.

***

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL DONE.
> 
> hope you enjoyed :)) (i am sorry for the half-resolution for lourry, but at the same time, not really, oops)
> 
> let me know what you think now it's all over  
> (and if you're interested in the off chance of me writing a pwp epilogue since this fic is distinctly lacking in that department)

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this first chapter then thank you, and please let me know what you think of it so far (shallow creature that i am, encouragement to continue really does do wonders for my motivation to write each night...)
> 
> like i said, i'm hoping to have another chapter up by the end of next weekend (i'd aim for sooner but a) i've been struck with the urge to write a lourry oneshot first and b) i have a wonderfully exciting film comp final to attend this weekend (cross your fingers for my team) which will see me out of action for a few days)
> 
> much love xx


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